The Shattered God
by Trygvasson
Summary: The Avengers finally track down Loki, but it is not at all like they expected. He needs help. Contains mental illness, references to infanticide, and graphic violence in later chapters.
1. Not Your Typical Loki Bloodbath

**Clearly, I do not own the Avengers. I have merely been reading far too much Loki whumpage and had to let it out.**

It was a small house, and a very old house. At least for a house in America. It was elegantly designed and built of stone. A little shabby from age. A small, unkempt garden hugged its base, supplanting the need for a mowed lawn in this neighborhood. The Avengers, and a platoon of SHIELD agents, had it surrounded. Loki, the power-crazed Asgardian who had attacked New York City two years ago was, supposedly, inside. Steve Rogers, Captain America, leader of the Avengers, had absolutely no idea why that would be.

Silently, the Captain motioned his team to advance. He led the way. A single, short and sharp blow to the lock broke open the door, and the team rushed in. Bruce waited outside, ready if needed, but unwilling to "hulk out" just yet. The rest found themselves in a tiny foyer. Clint and Natasha immediately turned left to check the kitchen. Tony Stark turned right, checking the sitting room. Both were clear. Steve continued down the dim hallway. The door at the end was open, so he wanted to check there first, leaving the team to break down any of the other doors.

The captain ducked under the frame, into a small bedroom. The room looked even smaller than it was with the curtains drawn and an excessive collection of squat, finely carved, wooden furniture. It was too dark to see what was actually in here, so Steve fumbled for the light switch. The light came on, and Steve blinked at the soft colors. He seemed to be surrounded by cradles, each with lacy, pastel blankets draped within. The walls were a pale yellow, the curtains light green. In the corner, like the mother hen to this bizarre clutch of cradles, was a plain twin bed, and it looked like someone was on it, muffled in blankets.

Cautiously, Steve raised his shield and picked his way over to the bed. The person on the bed made no move. The Captain reached down and pulled back the edge of the blanket, revealing, indeed, Loki. The enemy. His eyes were closed, his face pale as paper, sheened with sweat. He did not move. Steve heard someone else walking in behind him, and he knew his team had cleared the rest of the little house. Slowly, the Captain pulled off a glove and felt for a pulse in Loki's neck. It was there, and very fast. Looking over his shoulder at his bemused friends, he shrugged. Turning back to the enemy, he pulled the blanket down further, then dropped it and stumbled back in surprise.

There was a newborn baby clutched to Loki's bare chest, the umbilical cord still fresh and attached, disappearing beneath the blankets. Natasha was the one to leap forward then, of course. She had lost the ability to have children herself and thus lost herself whenever confronted with an infant. She gently cupped the babe's head. It didn't move. "It's not breathing," she whispered frantically, and tried to lift it from the enemy's chest. Suddenly, Loki burst back to life, his arms tightening around the babe. His eyes flashed open, and his whole body flexed, shielding the baby for an instant before he flopped back onto the bed.

Steve rushed forward unthinking, almost shouting, "Loki, you need to let us help! Let us help the baby." Loki did not seem to understand and only held the child closer. Tears leaked from his unseeing eyes.

"Don't take him—he's mine! I can't bear to lose another one. Leave this one for me." Fruitlessly, Natasha tried to extricate the child again, and Loki whimpered. "No, papa, not this one. Not this one—you won't have him…"

"We need to resuscitate the baby, don't you understand?" Steve tried to pull Loki's arms loose, but the weakened god still had some feral strength in him. He didn't budge.

"There's no point," Natasha said in a brittle voice. "The baby is dead. He's breathless. He's not moving. There's no heartbeat. He's _cold."_ She choked a little.

"Hush now, little one," Loki murmured, eyes abruptly lowered, oblivious to the mortals in the room. "Mama loves you. Mama will keep you safe. Mama won't let them take you, hurt you. Mama's sending you to your sister. She'll take care of you, just like she does your brothers and sisters." He bent forward, placed a kiss on his son's head, then, horribly, moved a hand to cover the child's nose and mouth.

Again Steve tried to stop him, but he wasn't strong enough. At least the baby was already dead… God what an awful thought. "Loki! Stop it! We aren't going to take him. You're safe. Your baby's safe. Everything is alright." He stopped trying to restrain the enemy and moved more to comfort him, one hand covering the mad god's would-be murdering fingers, the other over his clammy brow. It seemed to work. Loki relaxed a bit. Steve moved their hands away from the stillborn face, grimacing as he did. He had no idea what was going on, but it was _definitely_ wretched.

"Oh my God." Steve glanced at Natasha, then stared. She had pulled the blanket back the rest of the way and clearly wished she hadn't. Loki was naked. He was terribly thin, with a soft roundness to his stomach. And he seemed to be a woman. More importantly, he was lying in a dark pool of his own blood, and the blood still freely flowed from between his legs. The child's umbilical cord was still anchored inside…him. Why on earth hadn't Steve noticed the blood all over the bed before now? It was staining the blanket in patches, and he even noticed streaks on the wall. And it was all over Loki.

"Get a medic," Natasha ordered, her voice cold and businesslike now. Someone, Clint or Tony, ran from the room. But Natasha didn't wait for the medic. Gingerly, she grasped the cord and tugged, gently. It didn't move. Neither did Loki. Biting her lip, she pulled a bit harder. Steve may have been imagining it, but the cord might have lengthened a bit. She kept pulling, slowly, steadily. She reached up with her free hand to push on the god's stomach. Loki stirred but did not struggle. He seemed to have fallen unconscious again. She tugged once more, and Steve was a little disgusted to see the afterbirth emerging. It was a messy and ragged tangle of red flesh, rimmed with black clots. Another gush of blood followed. Where the hell was the medic? Stone-faced, Natasha continued to massage Loki's belly with one hand. The other she carefully wound into the sheet, then pressed it into the bloody font, trying to stem the flow with pressure both outside and in. Her arm was buried almost to the elbow. Loki groaned in pain and clutched at the child, but did not wake.

"How did you know what to do in a delivery like this?" Steve asked Natasha softly.

"…I will never actually go through labor myself…" She didn't finish the thought, but Steve understood, and was sorry for asking.

By the time the medic arrived, the bleeding was but a trickle. Steve wasn't sure if that was due to Natasha's efforts or if Loki was just running out of blood and going to die in front of them. The medic, having checked Loki's none-to-reassuring vital signs, was preparing to insert an IV for a bag of fluids to get the god's blood pressure back up. Steve reached out to try to straighten Loki's arm, or at least expose a hand for a vein. He met with no resistance, and he almost dropped the arm in surprise. Where was that unnatural strength now? Loki, it seemed, was too far gone now even to hold the baby properly.

"Steve?" The Captain looked back. It was Tony. He had a very strange expression on his face and seemed to be inspecting one of the cradles. Clint, standing behind him, looked the same—bewildered, and afraid. Steve walked over, leaving Natasha to sit alone on the bloody end of the bed. Curiously, he looked into the cradle, and his stomach turned over. Tony had flipped back the powder-blue baby blanket to reveal the unwrapped mummy of an infant, small enough to be a newborn. Grimacing, Steve turned to the next cradle over, and folded back the bright yellow blanket to reveal another mummy, this one about the size of a twelve month old and dressed in what was probably once a beautiful pink onesie. Steve stared around the room, counting cradles even as he started to feel dizzy. Twenty? He noticed the one closest to the bed was empty, a new, striped blanket folded over the side.

"What was in the other rooms?" He murmured, dreading the answer.

"One was empty. And one was like this one…but with cribs instead of cradles," Iron Man answered softly.

Without a word, Steve turned and walked to the door. He crossed the hall and stuck his head in the other room. Empty. He walked to the next room and strode right in and up to the first crib. Impatiently, he ripped back the blanket inside, and discovered twins, about three years old, dry as a bone, dressed in matching faded blue jumpers. An anguished cry escaped him. What on earth, on Asgard, or in Hell could drive even Loki to do _this_? And apparently over and over again. What had he said in the other room? _Don't take him…I can't bear to lose another one._

He looked around this room. It was painted a light blue, again with green curtains, filled with ornate wooden cribs. Steve didn't count them. The walls in here were hung with paintings. He stepped closer, and saw Tony was with him, his face stricken. Together, they studied a painting of a young child with an angelic face, dark hair, and striking green eyes. The next painting over was clearly by the same hand, but much older, with a similar child. The next painting was different. Very different. There was a cherubic, dark-haired, green-eyed toddler, but he was sitting in the lap of an older girl. That girl was unmistakably the toddler's sibling, except for the fact that one half of her body was withered to the bone with a fiery red eye contrasting the normal green opposite. Still, the girl was clearly pleased to be holding a younger sibling, hugging the child to her possessively.

Looking around the room, Steve could see the same half-dead girl featured in a number of the paintings, of various ages. Including a larger one on the far wall. Curiously, he and Tony stepped towards it. There was the girl, and next to her a thin boy with what looked like snake scales curling up his arms and neck. Behind them towered an older youth already boasting a warrior-like build; he had the same black hair as all the others, but his eyes were gold, like a wolf. In front of this trio were another set of twins, older than the poor souls in the crib behind them. All of the children were smiling, but something about the portrait was off. It made Steve feel strangely sad. It was almost like all the smiles were fake, masking a fear that should never be found in a child. Steve looked away, and saw that Tony felt the same.

The pair turned silently to inspect the rest of the room when they were interrupted by a cry from Loki's room. Instantly, they rushed back across the hall, but stopped still in the doorway and stared. Natasha was pressed against the wall near the foot of the bed. The medic had apparently just fallen back onto the floor from tending Loki, and Steve could perfectly understand why. Loki was glowing. A greenish-gold light was shining under his skin. Looking closer, Steve could see that it seemed to be following blood vessels and even pulsing with his arteries.

"What. The. Hell." It was Clint who said it.

It was Bruce who eventually answered, having finally come in and inspected the scene quietly for a couple minutes. "If I had to guess, I'd say that's his magic keeping him alive since he's lost so much blood." He turned to Steve, the team Captain, as it were. "What are we going to do now?"

Steve shrugged helplessly. He had no idea. "Thoughts?"

Tony spoke up immediately. "I don't think we should turn him over to anyone else just yet." The others looked at him expectantly. "I'm not at all sure what's going on here, but I've got a suspicion that I'm _really_ not going to like the story, and I want to hear an explanation before we send even this guy off to complete whatever punishment Odin had in mind for him. I mean, this old house is filled with dead children!" Natasha flinched, but Tony continued. "And all these cradles and things, they're really old. Most of them anyways. You can tell." He trailed off for a moment, then finished, "I've got a bad feeling that whatever happened to all these kids _wasn't_ just Loki being evil. I think they might all be his, and that he loved them…"

Steve found himself nodding along. "Anybody else? Okay, then may I suggest that we keep him, temporarily at least, in Stark Tower. We can fend off Fury from there if he puts his foot down. And we should definitely _not_ tell Thor if and when he shows up that we have Loki until and unless we can determine that he won't just immediately haul Loki back to Asgard."

"We might have to tell Thor," Bruce said thoughtfully. "We might need his knowledge to help heal Loki."

"If it comes to that, then we probably shouldn't keep him in the tower—that's the first place Thor would think to look. He might be better off in a safe house," Clint supplied reluctantly.

"Which we don't have," Steve pointed out.

"It shouldn't be that hard to set one up," Tony said. "I can do that quick. We'll keep Loki in the tower until the house is ready, shouldn't be more than a few days, then move him and wait for Thor to show up, if he ever does. And if he shows up before then, then mum's the word, and we keep him distracted until we can move Loki to safety."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve said. He squatted down by the shaken SHIELD medic. "Hey, what would you say to taking a furlough from official SHIELD business for a couple months to take care of an alien god full time?"

"I'll pay you a lot," Tony chipped in.

"And you technically would still be working for SHIELD, since we work for them," Natasha muttered from the corner.

The medic was still staring in shock at her patient, but nodded slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Heather."

Now that they had a plan, the Avengers efficiently bundled Loki up in the blood-soaked blankets and quietly took him into custody, dismissing the SHIELD agents outside. They hurried back to Stark Tower. They needed to be in position and locked down before SHIELD or anyone else had a chance to mobilize and stop them. Loki was deposited unceremoniously in the medical bay. Heather seemed much more at ease with a number of beeping machines hooked up to her patient and a bounty of medical supplies at her disposal. Bruce stayed to help her while the others secured their defenses.

Natasha carefully took the stillborn, cord and all, over to the morgue. _Why does Tony even have a morgue?_ She probably thought that every time she came down here. At a work table, she tied and cut the cord and placed the placenta in a plastic box on a body shelf. She cradled the baby to her chest and looked at him. He was tiny. Despite his deathly color, he was beautiful. His head wasn't molded like so many newborns, but perfect and round. His face definitely had the fine bones of his… mother? He had a lot of hair, plastered to his skull from the fluids of the womb. He was tubby, with perfectly cute little fingers and toes. If only he was alive. With a sigh, she placed the small body on the shelf, and slid it shut.


	2. Guilt

**Still don't own the Avengers.**

Three days had passed since the birth, and Loki's condition was unchanged. Except for the one time when he had half woken up and panicked at the absence of his child. He now lay quiet, holding a doll to his chest as if it were a living and breathing baby. This morning, they moved him to the safe house. It was a couple blocks away from the tower, a modern house built of concrete and reinforced with all the ingenious armaments Stark's money could buy, which is to say, a lot. The living room had been converted to a state-of-the-art sick room, as the bedrooms were deemed too small for the equipment needed. The house was continuously monitored by Jarvis, and one of the Avengers was on guard at all times.

It was just in time, as this afternoon, Thor had made his presence known with an unexpected torrential downpour and thunderstorm. He alighted on one of the balconies of Stark Tower and meandered his way down to Tony's lab, where Tony, Steve, and Bruce were gathered. Clint was on guard duty at the house, and Natasha had been reclusive since they found Loki. "My friends!" The prince boomed with an enormous grin, gathering the three of them into a hug for an instant, before stepping back, face falling into a more serious expression. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. My brother escaped a while ago, and we have new information that he might have come to Midgard."

The three of them were silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. They obviously should have planned for this ahead of time. Fortunately, Tony saved the other two. "Please don't tell us your brother is planning another invasion? I only just got the floors refinished from the last time."

Thor smiled slightly. "Fear not, Man of Iron. I believe my brother is merely hiding here, not plotting. Though I suppose that could change."

"Why would he come here to hide?" Steve ventured. He really had no clue how they were supposed to broach the subject.

"Why not? Midgard is more comfortable for him than many of the other realms, and easier for him to blend in if he wishes. And we have searched fruitlessly for him in other realms already."

"When did he escape?"  
"A little over a year ago."

"And you're only telling us now?"  
Thor frowned. "I had hoped to find him myself, rather than get many others involved."

"…Why?" _Please say you were worried others would hurt him or something like that._

"Well, for one thing, even weakened as he was, Loki is a dangerous foe, and I would not wish for anyone to be hurt capturing him. For another, he… he's my brother…" Thor seemed unsure of what to say.

"What will you do when you find him?"

"He must return to Asgard and face his punishment, obviously."

"What if he is injured?"

Thor looked at Steve questioningly. "Do you know something, friend Steve?"

"Maybe," Bruce said, "Now, answer the question."

"Do you have my brother? Is he hurt?" There was definitely worry in Thor's voice, and Steve was relieved. He glanced at the other two to check that they were in agreement.

"SHIELD tracked him down a few weeks ago. Traced him to a house in the city. He was in bad shape when we found him."

"Take me to him!"

"Not yet." Thor looked stunned, staring at Steve incredulously. Steve sighed. "He is in no condition to be moved right now, so what are you planning to do?"

"Is…is he going to be alright?"

"We don't know, and we definitely want your input to see if we can do anything else for him. But we can't let you see him until we know you won't hurt him. He is in our custody and under our protection at the moment. We won't be releasing him back to Asgard until some questions are answered."

Thor blinked at him, unused to any from Midgard exerting influence on Asgardian affairs. But this was his brother, and these were his friends. "I swear I will not take him forcefully from your custody. Now, what's wrong with my brother?"

Satisfied, the three Avengers nodded, and Tony turned to one of the computer monitors in the lab. "Jarvis, pull up the footage I saved of our guest. Thor, your brother lost a lot of blood, and, well, he's an alien, so we couldn't just replace it. He's been unconscious since we found him."

"Of course sir," came a disembodied vaguely British voice. A short video clip appeared on the screen, showing Loki in a hospital bed, glowing with the golden lights in his veins.

"Do you know what's happening here?"

Thor stared at the video. "I have never seen my brother do this before. Not after even the most grievous of wounds. But I have heard of this phenomenon. Only great sorcerers can accomplish it. His magic is taking the place of the blood he has lost."

"That's what I thought," Bruce mumbled. Then he spoke more clearly, "Is he okay like this? Will he get better?"

Thor thought for a moment. "I think he should improve, but I am not sure. In the stories I have heard, the magic can only last so long in this role before the body gives out and dies. If he does not replenish his own blood supply fast enough, he…" Thor did not finish the sentence but rather buried his face in his hands. Steve dropped a hand on his shoulder, sorry they hadn't been able to simply trust Thor to be loyal to his crazy brother.

"Is there anything we can do to help him, Thor?" Tony asked, gently.

"I am no healer." Thor's voice was muffled, but he sniffed and looked up again. "But Lady Eir, our greatest healer, could surely help. I must take my brother to Asgard!"

"No."

"Why?"

"What was Loki's punishment, Thor?"

Thor growled at them but answered. "He was imprisoned in a spacious cell below the palace. The sentence to last his lifetime."

Steve raised a placating hand. "Alright. Now, does Loki have any children?"

Thor looked puzzled. "Not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'?" Bruce asked.

"Well… actually, they were all in the book Lady Darcy had. 'Norse myths.' Not entirely accurate, but… are you familiar with them?"

They had all read the myths in the past few days, looking for clues. Bruce answered, "I know one version where Loki was the 'mother of monsters' and gave birth to your father's horse Sleipnir, the world snake Jormungand, the great wolf Fenrir, and Hela, queen of the dead."

"Yes?"

"That's all I know." The Avengers wanted to hear Thor's version.

"Ah. Well, it is sort of true. Loki turned into a horse and mothered Sleipnir. But he was the father to the other three. Their mother was a wicked giantess who seduced my brother with her tricks when he was very young. They weren't simple beasts, mind you, but shapeshifters like Loki. Except for Hela. Why is this relevant?"

"In a moment. What happened to those children?"

"Well, Sleipnir is indeed my father's horse. He has eight legs and is the fastest runner in the nine realms. My father had to place a spell to keep him from changing back to a human though—he was too important as a warhorse." Thor missed his friends' horrified looks as he mused. "Fenrir and Jormungand were very volatile. Even Loki could not control them after their mother was found out and banished. So Fenrir was chained as a wolf in the caves below Asgard, and Jormungand was banished to the seas of Midgard, actually, because of his favored sea-serpent shape. And Hela… her powers were so unlike any other's in Asgard. Unsuited to Asgard. She was sent to Nifelheim when she was seven and now rules that realm as the queen of the dead. I believe Loki managed that for her, but he never told me how."

Tony, Steve, and Bruce were silent for a moment, taking in this new information. Then Bruce asked quietly, "were there any others."

Thor looked away, a little guiltily. "Yes, his youngest were twins, Vali and Narfi. These he birthed himself as well, but in his Aesir guise, not as a mare or anything like that. It was unnatural, everyone thought. The boys didn't live long."

"What happened?"

Thor hesitated, and Steve steeled himself. He wasn't going to like this story, worse than the others, he guessed. "It was when they were five. They were too old to keep hidden in the nursery any more. No one but Loki, Mother, and I could stand them. It wasn't their fault; they were sweet kids, eager nephews. But a constant reminder of Loki's strangeness. Father didn't like them at all, and they could tell, so they goaded him, as children will. They would play tricks on the Allfather. Oh, you knew they were Loki's! Then when Father grew angry, they would flee and hide, giggling, in Loki's shadow. Loki never chided them for mischievous behavior, you see, so long as no one was hurt. The last time, Father managed to fling a spell after them as they ran. He missed Narfi, but Vali was changed into a wolf." Thor paused for a moment, either gathering his thoughts or in hopes that Steve or Bruce would stop the story. They didn't. "Neither Vali nor Narfi was born with Loki's gift of shapeshifting. When Vali turned into a wolf, his mind changed too, not just his body. He became a beast, and he chased down his brother and killed him in front of Loki and me. Loki changed him back instantly, of course, but it was too late for Narfi, and Vali was heartbroken. He just kept crying, even when he was taken to trial and condemned as a kinslayer, he never stopped crying…" Thor fell silent.

"Let me get this straight," Tony said. "Odin turns a five-year-old into a wild adult wolf, then blames the kid when things go south? And what do you mean he was 'condemned as a kinslayer'? What does that mean, really?"

"Killing a family member is the most heinous crime conceivable on Asgard, punishable by life in prison or death. Vali was sentenced to death. Loki was punished as well, for enabling his sons' wild behavior."

"And how was _he_ punished?" There was a dangerous edge in Tony's voice now, and it took a long time for Thor to answer.

"I would rather not say."

"If you don't say, then you won't see your brother."

Thor glared at him, then sighed. "He was chained in a cell for a year, with a viper's venom burning his face… tied down with… Narfi's entrails."

Three cries of outrage and disgust followed that remark. Steve blurted, " _Really?_ That is… the worst thing I have ever heard, I think. Or one of the worst anyhow—I lived through WWII. _Thor_ , how could you let that happen to your own _brother_? And, oh God, please don't tell me that Odin was the one who came up with that…"

Thor looked away. "Father is wise. He always has a reason for everything that he does. Your justice system on Midgard is soft. The Aesir are a hard race. Hard crimes are punished harshly. And rare crimes even more so, for deterrence. No one who was there ever forgot. And we have had no kinslaying since."

"Well, from your story, it sounds like Loki was the innocent one in this case. If anyone should have been punished, it should have been Odin!"

Thor stood up from the lab bench and balled his fists. Thunder rumbled outside. "You have no place to sit in judgment of the Allfather, Captain Rogers. He is the king of Asgard and bound to its laws, not yours. Now, I have answered your questions, you answer mine. Why is this relevant?"

"Well, listening to all this has convinced me at least that Asgardian justice is making the Loki problem worse, not better, for one thing. To answer your question though, the reason we were asking about Loki's children is that when we found him, he had just given birth. The blood loss was from postpartum hemorrhage."

Thor sat back down, hard. "Loki has another child? I am an uncle again!"

Bruce coughed, "Well, actually, no. I'm sorry, Thor, but the child was stillborn."

The smile blossoming across Thor's face vanished. "Oh." The group stood there awkwardly for a moment. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"A nephew… Did Loki say who—"

"Loki hasn't been able to say anything since the birth. The only time he spoke was in delirium, when he thought the baby was going to be taken away from him. _Again._ " Tony bit off the last word in sharp accusation.

"I see." Thor looked appropriately chastised. "I didn't realize he was still taking it so hard."

Steve, Tony, and Bruce all stared at each other in wonderment. How in the world could Thor, Loki's own adopted brother, not understand how untenable the situation was? Was Jotun psychology somehow more similar to human than Aesir or something? Or was Thor just that dense, and Odin that cruel?

Bruce broke the silence. "Thor, even though you have obviously known Loki longer than us, by a lot, it seems like Midgard might have a better understanding of what's going on in your brother's head than you do right now. Until he's back on his feet and this situation is sorted out, we're uncomfortable with letting him go back to his cell in Asgard."

Steve finished the point, "You must admit that our planet has a greater stake in his punishment even than Asgard, and our culture does not condone the sorts of punishments that Loki endured in the past. It's even written into this country's constitution—no cruel and unusual punishment. We can accept life in prison, even death sentences, but torture is unacceptable, as is denying someone the help they need while in prison. Loki is physically ill now, and now we know he has been mentally suffering for a long time. We won't send him back until he is well enough to go. Understand?"

"Understood, friend Steve, friend Bruce… May I see him?"

"Maybe."


	3. Five Fathoms

**Blah, blah, blah, Avengers not mine, yadda, yadda**

A week later, Thor was still furtively lurking in the tower, waiting for his friends to let him see Loki. Loki, on the other hand, had still not awoken, and Heather had long since added some more tubes to his body to support what was looking to be a protracted coma at the very least. He had not gotten worse, Steve informed Thor every day. Then, one afternoon, Bruce called the tower from guard duty at the safe house. "He's stopped glowing."

This time, Steve decided to let Thor come along, so long as he left Mjolnir behind at the tower and agreed to wear a mask over his eyes so he still didn't learn the actual location of the safe house, at least for this visit. Thor was understandably upset at his friends' lack of trust in him, but agreed for Loki's sake.

They all stood around Loki's hospital bed, just looking. Thor seemed afraid to disturb his brother, or perhaps the strange Midgardian equipment keeping him alive. He also seemed incapable of looking away from the plastic baby doll Loki still unfeelingly clutched to his emaciated chest. Heather debriefed them. "The glow stopped about half an hour ago. His vital signs have remained stable, and he hasn't moved. He is still profoundly anemic as of this morning, though much better than he was. I'd estimate he lost about half of his pregnancy blood volume to begin with—most people would have died without an emergency transfusion."

"When will he awaken?" Thor asked abruptly.

"I'm sorry, there's still no way to know if and when he will wake up. I'm definitely taking this as a good sign, but… With luck at least, I will be able to taper off on some of the life support, let his body get back to functioning on its own, so when he does wake up, he'll be in better shape to get moving quickly."

The group watched the comatose god silently for a moment. Then Thor asked quietly, "Why does he have that toy?"

It was Clint who answered. "Because when we first found him, even though he wasn't fully aware of what was going on, he fought back every time we tried to take the baby away from him. We only got the kid off him when he was passed out cold. But he wasn't quite in the coma yet then and came to long enough to panic at us again, so we got him the doll to hold to keep him calm. He didn't notice it wasn't the real thing, but he didn't notice the real thing was dead either." Thor flinched, but Clint continued mercilessly. "It's kinda remarkable, actually. If you try moving him around at all, most of him is weak and floppy, but he really is holding on to that doll still. It's like his arms are the only part of him that still have muscle tone."

Finally, Thor bent down and awkwardly hugged at his brother, who did not move. He stood up and cupped a hand to Loki's pale cheek, thumb smoothing back the hair from his temple. "I'm sorry I never truly understood the attachment you must feel to those children, brother." He sniffed, and placed a hand over Loki's. Loki's fingers twitched and seemed to tighten around the doll's head. Thor frowned, and sniffed again. His eyes were red.

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, and everyone except Heather adjourned to the small kitchen. Bruce starts making tea for everyone. It certainly looked like Thor could use some. A couple minutes later found them all leaning around the island countertop, nursing steaming mugs of a faintly bitter green brew. Thor was adding copious amounts of honey to his, despondently watching the thick golden stream threaten to overflow his cup. Gently, Natasha reached over and stopped him, then handed him a spoon to stir it in.

"Thor?" Steve prodded gently.

"I think I understand why you are keeping him here now, friend Steve, rather than sending him back to Asgard." He paused, idly churning his tea. "I think I have served my brother poorly for many years."

Natasha snorted, finally fed up with Thor's earnest obliviousness. "You think? Do you have any children, Thor, or have you ever thought, really thought, about what it means to have them?"

"I have none, though I of course have imagined the joy of being a father—"

"And what of mothering? Loki's done both. To carry your child inside of you, have it wholly dependent on you, share the pain and terror of birth with it? Have you ever thought about that?" Her voice was getting louder; this was an old hurt for her.

"No."

"And then, apparently, to have that new life, that baby that was _all yours_ for nine months at least, taken away? Or, as you told us, turned into animals, banished to other worlds, and even _killed_? Asgard punished him for having children! And you're surprised he snapped."

"I didn't understand."

"You should have." The assassin straightened up and walked back across to Loki's room. The women's room, it seemed. None of the men followed her.

"I failed my brother, it seems."

"It wasn't all your fault, Thor," Tony offered, but his heart clearly wasn't in it.

"I should have stood up to Father. Questioned him sooner. I should have protected my niece and nephews."

"Yeah, you should have." Clint muttered.

"Clint… you're not helping." Steve began.

"I'm not trying to! It's bad enough to hear about what happened way back in the day on Asgard, even for me, and I hate the guy! But we all know it's even worse than that!" Steve glared at him, but it was too late.

"What do you mean, worse?"

Tony intervened. "You see Thor, we have evidence that this is not the first time Loki has come to Midgard to give birth, and not the first child he has lost here."

Thor looked at him fearfully. "What are you saying, Man of Iron?"

Tony looked at Steve, and Steve understood instantly. This probably was not a conversation they wanted to take place in the safe house. "Let's go back to the Tower, Thor, and we can fill you in properly." His tone brooked no argument, and Thor sighed resignedly. He stood up, drained his no doubt sickeningly sweet tea in one gulp, and picked up his eye mask. Steve nodded, and the god secured the mask before allowing himself to be led from the house and back to the car. Natasha stayed for guard duty, even though it was still technically Bruce's shift. Steve doubted she wanted to be in the same building as Thor anyways right now.

Back at the tower, the men assembled in one of Tony's infinite sitting rooms, this one carefully selected for its comfortable couches and lack of spindly, breakable, and easily weaponizable furniture. They sat, and Steve began the story.

"We found him in an old house which we suspect he has secretly owned for some time, long before New York, before you were banished. He was already weak and bleeding out on the bed, and Heather has confirmed the baby was stillborn. You already know all that. But that wasn't all we found. The house was…oddly furnished, you might say. The room we found Loki in was filled with cradles, and there was another room filled with cribs for older children. There were tons of hand-drawn and hand-painted portraits of babies and kids, pretty much all with Loki's dark hair and green eyes."

Thor was silent and seemed to be holding his breath. His expression was a mix of hope and dread. Steve hesitated to confirm his fears. "The cradle nearest the bed where Loki was was pretty new, but a lot of the others were old. Antiques. Some looked old enough to come from the Middle Ages, and… they weren't empty. We found… bodies… in all of them."

Thor bellowed in wordless sorrow, fists tightening. But he made no move to stand, and he motioned for Steve to continue. Uncomfortably, he described exactly what they found. "They were all dried out. Mummified. Some were small enough to be newborns, some several months old, some of them were a few years old when they died. We haven't completed autopsies on them or anything like that yet. We wanted to wait a little while for Loki to wake up and see what he could tell us. Also, I think Hela was in some of the pictures, holding… her siblings. I guess it was her from the descriptions Bruce found in the myths anyways. She looked happy in those pictures. But there was another portrait she was in too, which, from what you told us last week, I'm guessing is Hela, Jormungand, Fenrir, and the twins…"

"I took a picture of it," Tony broke in, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I should warn you though, the painting was a little disturbing, somehow. I can't explain it." Steve nodded, and leaned over to look too as Tony passed the display to Thor.

Thor gasped. "Yes. Yes, that is them! Only Sleipnir is missing, but he was already confined to horse form for centuries by the time Vali and Narfi were born…" Suddenly, he thrust the phone back at Tony, grimacing. "That is my brother's work for certain. And you are right. It is disturbing. Never did any of those children smile like _that._ Hela was a quiet girl with only a soft smile; the twins were always truly beaming. Jormungand only smiled with his eyes. And Fenrir had the same smile as my brother—rare but beautifully genuine. The _smiles_ in that portrait are false and bright, the kind my brother only wore when he was injured in battle." His breath caught for a second. "I can't believe that is how Loki remembers them." He fell silent and appeared to be thinking. "I wonder what could possibly have happened to all those others."

Steve shifted uneasily. This was the worst part. "We have an idea, and I don't think you're going to like it."

Thor looked at him bleakly. "Tell me, friend Steve. I don't think anything could surprise me now."

Don't be so sure of that, Steve thought. "We already told you how Loki struggled when we first tried to lift the baby from him. He said things like 'not this one, papa, leave this one for me.'"

"Are you saying you believe the Allfather to have killed them?" Thor's voice grew dangerous.

"No." Steve's voice was flat.

"Then what?"

"He started talking to the baby right after that, even though it was clearly dead. He said, 'Mama loves you. Mama will keep you safe. Mama won't let them take you, hurt you. Mama's sending you to your sister. She'll take care of you, just like she does your brothers and sisters.'" Steve didn't think he would ever forget those words. They were too creepy. "Then he tried to smother the baby. That's why we stopped trying to take it then."

"He _what?_ " Thor, the god of thunder, looked thunderstruck.

Steve shrugged at him helplessly.

Bruce spoke up. "Our best guess from what we know is that after Vali and Narfi died, Loki was driven mad and kept it secret every time he became pregnant and probably came to Midgard every time he gave birth. But he was so afraid that Odin would take the child and do something terrible to it that he was driven to 'save' it from that fate with a quick death. From what I saw, it doesn't look like any of the children died particularly violently. You say Hela is queen of the dead—Loki sent his children to her, his eldest daughter, to take care of. From what we could tell from the cribs and cradles, sometimes Loki was able to hold off the urge to 'save' the child for a couple years, sometimes not. But none of them looked older than three or four. It looks like he doted on them while they were alive, though. Were there times when Loki would disappear from Asgard for a couple years?"

Thor stared into space. "Yes. There were. He would get restless, I thought, and leave to travel other realms. Even Heimdall didn't know where he went. And when he returned, he always seemed tired and withdrawn. I never thought anything of it."

Bruce commented again, "I bet if we talked to a psychiatrist here, Loki would be readily diagnosed with severe recurring postpartum psychosis or something like that."

Everyone looked at him. "Come again?" Clint said.

"Postpartum psychosis. It's well-known in the medical literature, on Earth anyways, I don't know about Asgard, that a lot of women can become severely depressed after giving birth. Or in severe cases, they even go mad, with mood swings, delusions, even hallucinations. There doesn't even have to be a history of trauma like in Loki's case. There have been plenty of documented cases of postpartum psychosis where a new mother who planned for the pregnancy tried to harm herself or the baby. All the doctors screen for the condition now."

"I have never heard of this before," Thor said wonderingly. "Perhaps I am simply ignorant, or perhaps the Aesir are unaffected in this way. Of course, I have no idea if Jotuns would be or not."

"Loki's condition is clearly more complicated anyways," Bruce mused. "He probably had some kind of PTSD or major depression from Odin's punishments back in the day, and he's been untreated for…centuries. And then there's the more recent stuff of course. But we won't really know until he wakes up."

"Still," Thor said with finality, "If what you suspect is true, there is no way Loki can return to Asgard, ever, even as a prisoner. He would be executed immediately. This travesty would make him a kinslayer ten times over." He folded his arms, leaned back into the couch, and stared at his toes.

Steve looked at Tony. He could tell they were thinking the same thing. More like forty times over. "Whereas on Earth, we would likely deem him criminally insane, but not responsible for these actions because he was not truly in control of himself. That's why we are keeping him here. He needs help, not punishment right now. I would be surprised when he wakes up if he is in any condition that any doctor would deem him competent to stand trial."

"I understand, friend Steve. And I maintain my oath not to take him to Asgard until and unless you deem it fit."


	4. Awakening

**Guess who the Avengers do not belong to-me!**

Another week went by, and they got another call from the safe house. "He's awake."

Loki had only been extubated a few days ago, switching from the mechanical ventilator to an oxygen mask. Steve supposed the god was awake now partly because Heather had been able to ease up on the meds once the breathing tube was out. The car rolled to a stop outside the safe house, and Thor was bounding out of the back seat before Steve had even unbuckled his seatbelt. Steve hadn't had the heart to make him go find the eye mask before leaving to see Loki. Deep down, Steve was pretty sure of Thor's good will anyways.

Steve and Tony followed Thor into the house and into the sickroom, waving Heather and Clint over from the kitchen. Thor almost pounced on Loki, cradling his face in his hands. "Brother?" Heather patiently pulled him back again and repositioned the breathing mask.

"Patience, Thor. He only woke up for a moment earlier. His eyes opened and looked around, and he fell asleep again. But look at this." She picked up the ice cube she had brought over from the kitchen and touched it to her patient's cheek. He turned his head away, mumbled, and hugged the doll closer. "He wasn't doing that yesterday," she said with a note of satisfaction. "He is aware enough to respond to sensation. That is an excellent sign that he really is coming back to us."

Thor looked at her uncertainly but seemed to take her word for it. He squeezed Loki's arm and said, "Brother, I am so happy that you are waking up now, and I am so sorry that I had to find you like this. But don't worry, little brother. I'm not mad at you. I love you. You're safe, and I'll be waiting here to talk to you again."

He bent down to place a kiss on Loki's brow. Loki's eyes flew open. He screamed. Thor was stricken and tried to shush him. Loki kept screaming. He let go of the doll with one hand and started pushing back at Thor with the other, fingers splayed like claws. His legs twitched as though he was trying to get off the bed and away from Thor. Steve lunged forward and pulled Thor away. Tony and Clint held Loki down as Heather flitted around them, fussing over Loki, reassuring him that he was fine, and preparing a syringe of sedative just in case. She also picked up a small gadget off a shelf and hit the only button—it played a recording of a crying baby. Almost instantly, Loki stopped fighting, both hands pathetically back on the doll. Now Loki was the one making little nonsense noises as he lay back on the bed and repositioned the doll onto his shoulder. His eyes closed again, but he wasn't asleep yet. His hand still patted the doll's back.

Silently, Steve motioned for Thor to stay in the far corner out of Loki's view and to keep quiet. Steve stepped back up to the head of the bed with Heather. He nodded at her, and she clicked the baby cry off. Loki smiled softly. Steve reached out cautiously and placed a hand on Loki's free shoulder. "Loki, can you look at me?"

Loki stopped his ministrations over the doll and seemed to tense. Slowly, he turned his head towards Steve, and his eyelids cracked open. His eyes were unfocused and closed again. But he mumbled faintly, "I've heard… your voice… before."

"Yes. I was there back at your house. I'm trying to get you well again. So is Heather here, and my other friends."

Loki didn't answer, but Heather spoke up anyways. "You lost a lot of blood, Loki, and you slept for a long time. But you're getting better now."

Loki's head shifted in her direction slightly. "Don't… know… you."

"I'm the medic that's been taking care of you, Loki. But I didn't meet you properly before now."

Loki did not respond immediately, and Steve wondered if he was falling asleep again. But then he shifted, and his eyelids fluttered again. "I thought Thor was here," he said in a sudden rush. "Don't let him in. He'll take Njalli. Please…" His breathing sped up, and Heather glanced worriedly at the monitors.

"It was a dream, Loki," Steve said quickly. "Thor isn't here. You're safe."

"Okay."

He didn't say anything else, and he didn't move anymore. "Loki?" No response. Steve looked back at Tony and Clint, then glanced at Thor apologetically. "I think he's asleep again." He straightened up and walked over to Thor, pulling him into the kitchen. Thor did not resist. He looked miserable. Clint and Tony followed them in, and Clint wordlessly started making tea. This time it was chamomile, and he added a liberal but not extravagant amount of honey to Thor's. Thor made no move to take the tea when Clint placed it on the counter top in front of him, so Tony pushed it closer and wrapped his hands around it.

"Njalli is a wonderful name," Thor said. "I would have liked to know him." They all nodded. Steve couldn't think of anything to say. "I do not think I should be here until Loki is in a better frame of mind. I will stay at the tower until he is ready."

Tony rested a hand on the thunder god's shoulder. "You are making the right decision, big guy. I'm sorry. If you want, I'll set it up so you can at least watch the monitor footage from the tower, even if you can't be here in person. It'll suck to watch, but…" He shrugged.

"Thank you, Man of Iron. I appreciate it." Ever so slowly, Thor took a sip of his tea. The four stood quietly for several minutes. The only sound from the other room was Heather. After a while, Steve, Tony, and Thor left to return to Stark Tower, leaving Clint to finish his shift on guard duty.

The next day, Steve and Natasha took the morning shift together. They hoped that Loki would wake and talk with them, preferably coherently. The Avengers had discussed the problem at length last night and decided Steve and Natasha had the best chance, because they were the ones who interacted directly with Loki at the birth, and neither had a particularly bad history with the fallen god, at least compared to Clint and Bruce. And Loki had reacted well to Steve yesterday.

"How is he today?" they asked Heather, gathered in the sickroom.

"Improved actually. I'm thinking of switching him to the nasal cannula oxygen rather than the mask. It's less annoying to the patient usually, and I think he'll still do well enough on it. He woke up very briefly last night and recognized Tony, as I'm sure he told you. He didn't panic at all. He just said he wasn't thirsty, which seemed to strike Mr. Stark as quite funny. He woke up about an hour ago long enough to ask me to prop him up a bit. He was sort of surprised when I pointed out the buttons to raise and lower the head of the bed. If he starts waking up more consistently, I might be able to take the nasogastric tube out and feed him regularly."

"Could you tell if he knows what happened?"

"Not really. He wasn't that focused on the doll when he woke up, but he didn't put it down either."

"Hmm. Let's see if we can wake him. Loki?" Steve prodded the god's arm. He didn't wake. Natasha shook him from the other side.

"Loki? We need to talk to you. Can you wake up?" She shook him again. His eyelids fluttered as his head lolled to the side. His eyes opened and met Steve's.

"Captain Rogers…I believe." His voice was a little muffled behind the mask.

"You recognize me."

"That voice… was you?"

"Yes."

A strange emotion flickered across his face momentarily. "You lied. Thor was here. Wasn't he."

Steve exhaled through his teeth. "Yes, he was, but he's gone now. And he promised us he wouldn't try to take you. He's not going to hurt you."

Loki blinked but remained stony faced. He rolled his head over to stare at Natasha. "I remember you as well, assassin." His head rolled back to center. "What do you want?"

"Well, what do you remember?"

Loki breathed in deeply. "I was at… home. I was in labor… for almost the whole day. There was something wrong. It shouldn't have lasted that long… but I was weak for some reason. I managed to deliver little Njalli… and I was resting. Then you came in. I noticed you when you tried to pick up Njalli. Then I don't know… until I heard Thor yesterday."

"You were hemorrhaging when we found you." Natasha said. "I had to help you deliver the placenta and try to stop the bleeding. It's been a couple weeks. For a while, it was really just your magic keeping you alive."

Loki's eyes slowly drifted closed while Natasha spoke. Steve shook him again, and they reopened. "Loki, um, there were a lot of cradles and things back at the house, and we looked inside them, and around the house a bit…"

Loki's eyes opened wide and he was shaking his head. "I know. I'm sorry. Don't tell Thor."

"It's okay, Loki. We aren't upset right now, but, well… Thor told us what happened with your oldest kids." Loki stared at him. "Sleipnir, Fenrir, Jormungand, Hela… the twins." Tears were now leaking from the Trickster's eyes. Steve continued uncomfortably, "We were wondering… were you trying to hide from Odin?"

Loki's lips trembled, and he suddenly shifted in the bed to shield the doll in his lap, cradling it close. Weakly, he nodded, and started crying in earnest.

Natasha leaned in, hugging Loki to her and stroking his hair. "Shh… It's okay. I can barely imagine what you must have felt, having your babies taken away one by one. And then what Thor told us about Vali and Narfi—" Loki cried all the harder. "Shh… There, there. Losing them was bad enough. Being imprisoned and tormented for a year afterwards… it is awful, what Odin did to you."

Loki snorted. "Did Thor not finish the story?" he asked in a voice that was cold and flat, no longer choked with tears.

"He—he said you were imprisoned in a cave for a year with poison dripping into your face, tied down with… um…"  
"And did he tell you what happened after?"

"There's more?" Steve asked, horrified. He stared at Natasha, and Heather came over as well, drawn by the morbid curiosity.

"Oh, yes. Once I was freed, I confronted the Allfather. I was unable to exact just revenge, but I made my opinion known, loud and clear. Odin did not appreciate it and decided I had not repented enough over the past year. He had Lady Sif sew my lips shut for another five years. And then he was kind enough to have the stitches cut on what would have been my sons' tenth birthday..." Loki raised both hands to his face at the memory, the baby doll on his lap forgotten for the first time. His fingers touched the oxygen mask, and he seemed surprised to discover it there. His voice shook when he spoke again. "I didn't dare speak against Odin after that. But I avenged myself on Lady Sif as soon as possible. It was petty, but she was a much easier target than the Allfather." He glanced up and noted Steve and Natasha's wary expressions. "Don't worry, all I did was cut her hair off while she was sleeping. It was really long back then." He sighed. "Hair grows back. Unlike dead children." The tears began to flow again. His hands fell back down on the bed as the exhaustion took over from his outburst.

After a moment, Steve asked carefully, "Loki, what happened to the children back at that house?"

Loki didn't answer for a moment, but then he said, "It was almost a century after I lost… Vali and Narfi before I fell pregnant again. I had been careful. But as soon as I realized what happened, I knew Odin would do something terrible when he found out. I knew it. So I came to Midgard… to Norway, I believe you call it. In a matter of months, I had a well-appointed dwelling to myself… and I birthed a beautiful girl. Meira, I called her. She was wonderful. I stayed with her there for several years. I blocked Heimdall's eye, so we would be safe. I even managed to bring Hela to join us for short visits at a time… before she was drawn back to Nifelheim. We were a real family. But I knew it couldn't last. Eventually, Odin would find me… and he would be angry. He would take Meira… and hurt her and… kill her… just like all the others… I couldn't let that happen. That summer, the storms were terrible... Thunderstorms never got that bad in Norway. I knew it was Thor, that he was looking for me. I had to do it you see. Thor… would have taken both of us straight to Odin. So I made a potion and put my Meira to sleep… sent her to be with Hela. Meira loved Hela so much…she was better off there."

"And then it happened again," Steve whispered.

"Yes, and again, and again. I fell pregnant, I hoped, I got everything ready, and I met another beautiful child. All of them were so perfect… Sometimes I had a few years before the thunder found me, sometimes months. Sometimes, when I knew Thor was already looking for me, I couldn't even wait for the thunder… Hela has been… such a good mother to her siblings."

"Why were you in New York this time?" Natasha asked.

"I moved everything about a hundred years ago, because of the wars in Europe. I guessed correctly that America would come through unscathed."

It was horrible, the raw emotion in Loki's voice. He obviously loved each of his children immensely. He was clearly torn apart at the very thought of what he'd been forced to do to them. Which just left one question worrying Steve's mind. Thor never mentioned looking for Loki during his absences. "Loki, how could you be sure that thunder was Thor, not just an unusual storm? Did Thor ever find you?"

"No, but I knew. Even when it was too far away for me to feel his aura, I knew. I could tell. Of course it was him. Odin sent him. He always did. It was him. I'm sure of it." Loki's hands crept back around the doll, and he was shaking.

"Easy there…"

"I'm telling you, it was him. And it will be the same if you let him come back here now. He'll tell Odin, and I'll never see Njalli again. And I'll be punished again… It was him!" Loki's voice had given way to a hysterical whisper.

"It's okay. I believe you."

"Loki, try to calm down. You're safe here. You need rest." He ignored Heather too.

"It _was_ him," Loki hissed.

"I know it was, rest now," Steve said.

"You don't understand…"

"That's okay, you can tell us later. We'll still be here."

"Quiet now, Loki." Natasha hugged him to her to silence him. He mumbled into her shirt for a moment, but words gave way to sobs again. Gently, she laid him back against his pillows and helped him adjust his grip on the doll. He was still breathing heavily, but his eyes were closed again. Steve and Natasha stayed a couple minutes to make sure he was truly asleep again, then stepped back to the kitchen, leaving Heather to her work.

"He wasn't sure at all," Steve commented.

"Definitely not. But he was too afraid to risk it. And now he's got a great mix of fear _and_ guilt driving the cycle. If only Njalli had lived, we might actually be of some help this time, break the cycle and all that." Natasha leaned her head against the window, staring into the empty street. "It makes me sick. Asgard is a messed up place."

"You're telling me."

"So what can we do?"

"I think the best place for him is in a psych hospital, actually, but there's no way we could keep him there if he didn't want to stay, is there? I mean, he's weak now, but he'll be up and at 'em in no time."

"Do you think we could persuade him to stay for his own good?"

"I have no idea."

"Thor might have some ideas for that."

"But Thor can't talk to him."

"True, but—"

Their conversation was interrupted by a terrible cry from the other room. They rushed back in to see Loki sitting up in the bed, staring at the doll in horror as he held it out in front of him. All the monitors were beeping wildly, and Heather was trying to calm him down again. "He's not breathing! Why isn't he breathing? Njalli!" Natasha rushed to his side, forcing him back down on the bed. Steve was right behind her. Loki was becoming more agitated. He ran his hands over the doll and bent a rubbery limb backwards in a morbid fascination. "What is this…? Where is my child?" He struggled to get up. Steve grasped his left arm to try to hold him down. "No! I trusted you! What have you done with Njalli? Does Odin have him?"

"Loki Silvertongue! Calm. Down." Natasha shouted. The god stared at her while continuing in his efforts to sit up. Natasha moved her grip to squeeze his hand. Loki's gaze grew uncertain. "I am so sorry, Loki. This is a doll that we bought to comfort you because you needed it in your delirium… You told us the labor was difficult, remember? Well… I'm afraid Njalli didn't make it. He was stillborn. There was nothing we could do."

"No." Loki crumpled into the bed, weeping. Steve and Natasha held his hands helplessly, and Heather stroked his brow. The last of the alarms stopped going off. After a while, he seemed to be truly asleep again, or at least unconscious. The three of them worked together to put the bed back together and make sure Loki was as comfortable as he could be. Steve picked up the doll and looked at it. It was still in the same onesie it came in, and there were several brownish stains on the rubbery skin from Loki's clammy hands. He wiped off the stains with his shirt as best he could, then set the doll back by Loki's side. He might need it again when he woke up.


	5. Denial

**Again, these characters, this setting, they are not mine.**

"Good morning, Captain."

It was the second day after he had awoken. Loki was sitting up in the bed. The breathing mask was gone, replaced by simple oxygen tubing to the nose. And the nasogastric tube was gone too. The doll was back, now wrapped in a knitted blue blanket, and Loki doted on it.

"Isn't he beautiful, Captain? He's such a good baby. He never cries." The trickster ran one long finger along a plastic cheek.

Cautiously, Steve stepped forward. "How do you feel, Loki?"

"I feel wonderful. Content. I could just sit here staring at him forever."

"I see… Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?"

"Were you here yesterday?" He didn't look up from the doll.

"For a while yes. You were telling me… about some things that happened a long time ago on Asgard."

Loki thought for a moment. "I don't remember. I'm sorry. I must have been very tired."

"Yes, I suppose you were." Loki had apparently buried any thought of what had happened. That might actually be a good thing for them. It probably wasn't good for Loki. They really needed a psychiatrist.

"Why are you helping me, Captain Rogers?" Loki asked suddenly, green eyes now fixed on Steve's face.

Steve thought about what to say. He really didn't want to upset the god again. "When we tracked you down, you were in need… Njalli was in need. We weren't going to send you back to Asgard half dead. And now, we've done some investigating, and… um… we think there may be some mitigating factors in your case. We want to revisit your sentencing to make sure it is really fair. So the Avengers are maintaining custody over you for now rather than releasing you to Asgard. We've got you safe."

"You are a strange people."

Steve grinned. Loki did not, but his face softened again when he looked back at the doll. He cooed at it softly. Steve's grin faded. "Loki, would you be willing to see a doctor and talk about what happened?"

"What do you mean? I am already healing. I anticipate getting out of this bed tomorrow maybe. What do you expect a doctor to do?"

"A different kind of doctor. One that could let us know what's going on in your head."  
"I am fine."

"I'm not saying we'll find anything wrong, but we want to make sure. It will help us know what to do with you later if we have a professional assessment."

Loki looked back up at him, his expression unreadable. "Do what you will. I do not care."

It took a week even for Tony, well, technically Pepper, to track down and vet a suitably talented and discreet psychiatrist who was also willing to make a house call on a deranged god. During that time, Loki made good progress physically, but almost seemed to regress mentally. He ignored everyone who came in, except Heather. He spent all of his time either sleeping in bed or sitting in a chair, rocking the damned doll silently. Just once, he had allowed Natasha to hold "Njalli" for a couple minutes while Heather washed his hands, which were grimy and even blistered in places from constantly rubbing the plastic doll head. The doll was looking rather worse for wear as well; patches of paint had rubbed off completely, giving the doll a nightmarish appearance. Steve wished Clint had gotten a sturdier doll originally. Even this Loki would notice the doll falling apart in his hands when it happened.

Steve had split his time between trying to talk to Loki, which seemed increasingly pointless, trying to keep SHIELD from storming the compound, and keeping Thor company, which was heartbreaking. True to his word, Tony had set up video monitoring the same day Loki first woke up. Thor watched eagerly for his brother to wake up again and get better quickly and was terribly disappointed when he didn't stir again until that evening, and then only briefly. The day after, Steve of course had visited Loki with Natasha, then returned to the tower to find the rest of the Avengers who had stayed behind awkwardly trying to comfort Thor after Loki's tirade. The next day when it was obvious Loki was repressing the memory of the day before, it was even worse. Now, even Thor could not deny that Loki was seriously sick in the head, not just tragically misguided. It was killing the thunder god that he had let things go so far and that he was helpless to make things better. Thor never stopped watching except begrudgingly to eat and sleep. If they weren't careful, they would have two deranged gods to take care of. Thor was barely talking to him now either.

Today, though, SHIELD and Thor were on hold. Steve was escorting Dr. Sarmit to Loki's safe house. When they arrived, Loki was sitting quietly in his rocking chair, Tony was on his way out, and Heather had set up a couple more chairs close by. She had retired to her desk on the other side of the room, able to listen in, but clearly with no intent to join this conversation. She had told Steve yesterday that she thought it was important for Loki to form an entirely new doctor-patient relationship with the psychiatrist rather than chance him trying to use her as an intermediary. Steve was only going to be here this first day to help with the backstory if needed and to put Loki at ease.


	6. Another Loki

**I do not nor have ever owned a single iota of the Avengers.**

Steve and Dr. Sarmit took their seats in silence. Loki ignored them. Calmly, Dr. Sarmit began, "Hello Loki, I am Dr. Sarmit, a psychiatrist. How are you today?" Loki didn't answer. Unfazed, the doctor spoke again. "The Captain said you named your child Njalli." Loki smiled at the bundle in his arms, but said nothing. "He told me a lot about you. Let's see if he got it right, shall we? He said you are a wonderful mother, that you have a number of children that you love very much, but that someone else hurt them, and you had to save them." Loki's face twitched, but he said nothing. Slowly, Dr. Sarmit repeated back a version of what he had told her yesterday, avoiding names and other likely triggers, emphasizing emotional undercurrents in the story. She always waited to give Loki a chance to comment if he wished, which he didn't, but mostly she just watched his nonverbal responses as he silently confirmed or denied her interpretation of his past. If he seemed confused or disagreed, she would readjust the story until even Steve could see Loki's unvoiced and pained agreement. Always silent, he still admitted more to the doctor than he ever had to Steve, Thor, or any of the Avengers. There was the hurt, fear, hopelessness, and guilt related to his children, constant depression, but also lingering love for a horrible father, all-consuming self-doubt, horror at his identity as a Jotun, shame in his many perceived failures, anger at the disregard he sensed in others, and even darker terror fleetingly exposed when Dr. Sarmit mentioned the Void and Chitauri.

Eventually though, even Dr. Sarmit got to the point where she needed to ask questions and get real answers. Loki did not seem interested in answering though. So she switched tack, finally ready to provoke him. "Loki, could you tell us, have you ever had any suicidal thoughts or attempted suicide?" Loki flinched. His head sagged, hands grasping the doll with renewed fervor. Then he straightened, looked at them for the first time since they had arrived, and relaxed his grip on the doll entirely. He looked at them with eyes clearer than they had been since he first woke up. A sly grin played about his lips. His fingers toyed with the baby blanket in his lap but disdained the doll. It was eerie.

"He has, actually. I was fighting with Thor on the bifrost, and we fell off. Odin had apparently just awoken from Odinsleep and arrived in time to catch Thor's ankle. I was hanging from Gungnir, the spear. Thor had the other end. I explained to Odin what I had been doing—the whole point you see was to show Odin that no matter my origins, I was no Jotun. He could trust me. My hope was that I would eventually get to the point where he would leave me be rather than try to control me so much. Or at least he might become more lenient in his punishments. Didn't work though. He said no. The other one was too weak to hear that, so he let go and fell into the Void."

Loki's voice was clipped and articulate, just like it was years ago. He seemed completely different from the emotional wreck he had been for the past several days. "You said, 'he has.' Who is he, exactly?" Dr. Sarmit asked, not missing a beat.

Loki grinned toothily at her as he idly passed the battered doll in his lap from one hand to the other. "You are good, Dr. Sarmit. You seem to have seen this before. I guess there may be more to your peculiar Midgardian science of 'psychiatry' than I gave you credit for." He gracefully inclined his head to her. "He is Loki Odinson. I suppose I should have explained that. I am Loki of Asgard."

"I see. Does he know about you?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure. He doesn't have much cause to think about me when he's around in any case. He's always distracted by a new baby, or another of Odin's slights, or some other pain, and he doesn't handle it very well. He always ends up a pathetic wreck. That's when I step in, usually. I am far more capable."

Steve stared at him, finally putting the pieces together. Loki had another personality. It made perfect sense. The thought felt like an epiphany, ridiculous in its magnitude and simplicity. Was this the evil Loki, then?

"So you take care of him?" Dr. Sarmit asked.

Loki chuckled. "Hardly. I take pity on him. He gets to the point where he can do nothing but cry, nothing but wallow in his pain, which I obviously don't enjoy either, so I send him to rest and figure out a way to make things better."

"You are in control of the two of you, then?"

Loki frowned, brow furrowing. "I… can leave any time I want to. Sometimes I do leave when things are especially bad, and I can't do anything about it. It's pretty much a given that Odinson will give up when the time comes in any case, so I let him do his share of the work. But… I have to wait for him to fade before I can take control. He can shut me out if he tries hard enough, even though he usually doesn't." Loki paused. "I wonder why I never thought to answer that question myself."

"We'll come back to that," Dr. Sarmit assured him quickly. "Are there any more of you?"

"What do you mean?"  
"Well, you are Loki of Asgard, and he is Loki Odinson. Is there anyone else? A Loki of Jotunheim?"

Loki's eyes flashed in anger, but then he looked uncertain. "I don't think so, but it occurs to me I might not know. How can I tell?"

Dr. Sarmit smiled reassuringly. "It's alright, Loki. Think back. If there are any points in time that you don't have a clear memory, that might be a clue. Or Loki Odinson might know if we can get him to talk to us. Otherwise, I'm afraid we might have to wait until your hypothetical companion makes himself known, if there even is anyone else. There are techniques I can use in our interviews to tease out exactly what's going on. And there might be some indicators from your past if I talk to your brother."

Loki nodded in understanding. To Steve's surprise, he didn't even flinch when she mentioned Thor.

"Can you tell us how long you and Loki Odinson have been distinct?"

Loki swallowed. "It was after Vali and Narfi died. Odinson couldn't handle the year afterward in the cave, not that I blame him. That was the second worst year of… our… life. I was the one that confronted Odin afterwards. I can remember exactly what I said. It was glorious. They didn't call me Silvertongue for nothing, you know. Of course, then Odin punished me for saying it, but it was worth it."

"Hang on," Steve broke in at last. "Loki, I mean the other Loki—Odinson—told us about that. He said he confronted Odin and… what happened after."

"Did he?" Loki looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Yes, he did, didn't he. I guess he must have some memory of what happens when I'm here, just as I know what happens to him…I still don't think he really knows I exist, though," he mused. "Not if he really thinks that was him. It definitely was not." Loki's voice almost sounded jealous. Was it possible to be jealous of oneself?

"What else have you been responsible for, rather than Odinson, that we would know about?" Dr. Sarmit asked, deftly redirecting the conversation.

Loki pursed his lips. "I already mentioned my plan to destroy Jotunheim, so you know that much. I was also the one who decided to come to Midgard when… we… that is so strange to say—were expecting Meira. Odinson took over after that; all the children always loved him more than they loved me. I could tell. Well, after all, he is the one that 'wears his heart on his sleeve,' as you mortals say. Of course they loved that… Most of the clever bits were mine, of course… I think…"

He fell silent for a moment, looking confused, then smiled his sly smile again. "I'm sorry to say, dear Captain, the abortive invasion a couple years ago was also my idea. In my defense, I came up with that under duress. The Chitauri had been torturing him for ages under the direction of Thanos and the Other before he finally let me in. I guess he didn't like my last plan that much." He smirked, but then his smile faded. "It didn't work out as planned, obviously. The whole goal was to use the vermin to take control of Midgard, then use the Tesseract to eliminate Thanos and the Other, and get rid of the Chitauri when I was done, obviously. Then, hopefully, I would be able to use the combined resources of this realm and the Tesseract to hold off Asgard… Free Jormungand afterwards. He's here, you know. Maybe even Hela more permanently. Probably not Fenrir and Sleipnir, though, at least not right away… Odin holds them too tightly in Asgard. But, I had hoped, I would be able to keep the next one." His voice grew softer, more distant. He stared down at the doll he still held loosely. "If I had succeeded, I wouldn't have lost little Njalli. I know it."

Just as suddenly as Loki had changed before, he hunched into himself and squeezed the doll back to him, eyes filled with tears. Loki of Asgard was gone, Loki Odinson was back. Without thinking about it, Steve leapt out of his chair and rushed to the slumped figure.

"Loki? It's okay. I'm here." Loki jerked away from him, curling around the doll in his lap. Heather came over and knelt in front of him, resting her hands on his knees.

Dr. Sarmit stood up and walked over as well. She crouched at the side of his chair and said quietly. "I think we should take a break for a bit, Loki. I know this is hard. You just rest for a little bit, alright? You did really well. Look at my watch—we've been talking for almost two hours." She smiled as Loki finally looked at her through the hair over his eyes. "I think it's time for you to have lunch. Why don't I come back tomorrow? You can relax this afternoon."

She made to stand up, but Loki shifted again as if he wanted to say something. She waited. He licked his lips and mumbled hesitantly. "You weren't talking to me. That was The Mask." He looked away.

"Can you tell me anything else about that right now, Loki?" He shook his head fiercely.

"It's alright, Loki, you don't have to. But can you say if the Mask is the only one?"

He cocked his head at her curiously, hair falling back away from his face. "What is the Mask? The only one of what?" He sounded utterly innocent, with a richly courteous tone.

Dr. Sarmit raised her eyebrows slightly, but just smiled at the god. "Why don't we save that for tomorrow, okay?"

One elegant eyebrow lifted. "I look forward to it, my lady doctor." Loki closed his eyes, dismissing them.

Dr. Sarmit stood up and nodded to Heather, who busied herself with her patient as usual, totally unruffled by the revelations of the past few hours. Sarmit beckoned Steve to follow her. They walked out of the room and then down the hall to the conference room Tony had set up a couple days ago. She and Steve sat down in front of the computer monitor and booted it up. It connected automatically to Stark Tower, where Thor and the rest of the Avengers had been watching the interview. As the video connected, Steve could see Thor in the background, sitting on a couch, head on his fists. Natasha sat next to him, staring into space while slowly patting the thunder god's shoulder. Clint was sitting in a chair facing the couch. Tony and Bruce were sitting before the monitor.

Tony noticed Steve and the doctor first. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey guys, they're ready." He turned back. "So, there's two of them then?"

"Actually, I suspect there are at least three distinct personalities."

All of the Avengers, Steve included, stared at Dr. Sarmit. Clint stood up and walked over to the monitor. Even Thor looked up.

"Isn't The Mask the same as Loki of Asgard?" Steve asked.

"Oh, yes, clearly. The Mask is Loki Odinson's name for Loki of Asgard. That's not what I was talking about, though. The third personality is the one that spoke at the end, who did not recognize The Mask title. I suspect it was him rather than Loki Odinson or Loki of Asgard who was most forthcoming with you last week, but then Odinson took over again when he discovered the baby was stillborn."

"Oh." It made sense, now that Steve replayed the conversations in his mind. Loki had certainly been very volatile, but the changes had been subtler than the transformation this morning.

"What does it mean, doctor?" It was Thor. He had stood up from the couch and looked grim even through a computer monitor.

Dr. Sarmit sighed. "I'm sorry, Thor. This must be especially hard on you. I can't be sure of anything at this point—psychological diagnosis takes time. From what I could elicit today, though, I would say that Loki Odinson is the more emotional side of your brother. He's very vulnerable and feels all the pain all the time from everything that has happened to him. Although, from what Loki of Asgard told us and what I've seen, Odinson also has a great capacity for nurturing. Loki of Asgard is the more action-oriented part. He is the one that tries to problem-solve. He seems more rational, but he also has a lot of anger in him. As for the third one, I'm really not sure. I didn't get to talk with him very much. Hopefully, he will be back tomorrow. It seems likely that he has no knowledge of either of the others, although all three seem to share some knowledge of the past at least. If I had to guess—and definitely don't take my word for it at this point—I would characterize this third personality as "Prince Loki," or something like that. He seems to be what he was raised to be, neither a 'weak' emotional wreak nor angry and conniving. I believe all of them are heavily invested in the children though. The fate of his children seem to drive both Odinson and Loki of Asgard."

Thor sat down suddenly. "You are right, doctor. You must be. I have seen that last side of him as you have described it, I am sure of it… I have seen all three, and I never realized."

"That is to be expected. These cases are never simple. Please though, if you think of anything else that seems relevant in light of this, tell me. There may be more personalities in there still."

"Will he get better?" Natasha asked suddenly.

Dr. Sarmit shifted in her seat and folded her hands in front of her. "With time, it is possible, but Dissociative Identity Disorder has a very poor prognosis, I'm afraid. The underlying trauma alone already makes it difficult, but all sorts of dissociation are very complex to treat. This isn't something I can fix with a prescription pad, though I think some antidepressants could help him. Or at least make the interviews easier. He will in all likelihood get better than he is now, but patients frequently relapse with stress. It's going to be a long road."

"What do you think about his sentencing, Dr. Sarmit?" Steve asked eventually. "I mean, what we decided after New York, not what happened in Asgard back in the day."

She thought for a minute. "It is a very complicated case. He is categorically not competent to stand trial right now, according to American law anyways. Of course, I wasn't there to evaluate him at the time. It could be that all this is actually quite new—you can't exactly rely on the patient's story in cases like this. You probably noticed the inconsistencies while he was talking. People with multiple personalities have very poor insight on their own usually and tend not to notice how incoherent they are. It's not that they lie but that they don't know what the truth is. In short, I am almost positive that he would not have been deemed competent in New York at the time either, but again, I wasn't there. Then of course, there is the fact that he is an alien and the unusual and overwhelming nature of his crimes. And the fact that he has magic and is therefore rather more dangerous than are most of the criminally insane. Certainly, I would say he needs treatment right now, not solitary confinement. How that would be best accomplished, I am not sure."

The group was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You will keep seeing him, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Do you think he will be able to talk to me?" Thor asked hopefully.

"I don't think that would be a good idea yet, Thor. With luck, he will be stable enough soon. I will know more in a few days."

"I understand. In that case, I think I should return to Asgard for a time."

"What are you going to do there?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Fear not, Man of Iron. I do not intend to break my promise. I am not planning on removing my brother from your custody. But Loki is delusional. Our father, though he is strict, did not, I am absolutely sure, intend to drive Loki to this, did not intend to break him. With all his wisdom, even he does not realize what happened to Loki, just as I did not. If I inform him of what has happened, he may now have some insight as to what could help, or at least know something that Dr. Sarmit will need. I must also confer with Lady Eir, our healer, now that I know more about what is ailing my brother."

"And if Odin snaps and decides to send an army after Loki?"

"I will not allow that to happen. If anything, my greatest fear is that my father will sink into another Odinsleep at the news, leaving me stuck in Asgard as interim king."

Dr. Sarmit blinked, clearly surprised at that reasoning, but she spoke up anyways. "If you intend to go to confer with your father and the healer, might I suggest that you take a written explanation with you? This is a complex case even by my standards, and I gather mental illness is not well understood in Asgard. I would be more than happy to write letters to King Odin and Lady Eir explaining things. It might help you to avoid misunderstandings. You can help me compose them too."

"That is an excellent idea, doctor," Steve said. "What do the rest of you think?" The other Avengers nodded together.

"It might also be a good idea for one of us to go with him," Natasha said from the couch.

"I agree," Dr. Sarmit said immediately.

"That does seem reasonable," Thor said, a bit of the old thunder returning to his voice now that he had a plan of action to execute. "Who will come?"

"I suggest Steve, he's team leader" Clint said.

Bruce nodded. "And he has spent the most time with Loki now. Plus he is not prone to making inappropriate comments."

"Hey!" Tony knew exactly who Bruce was thinking about.

"And remember, he almost managed to move Mjolnir," Natasha said quietly. "Asgard will surely respect that. You should go, Rogers. I will accompany Dr. Sarmit while you are gone. Loki does well with me."

Steve nodded. With any luck, Natasha would benefit from spending time with the doctor too and stop hiding by the time he got back. Steve smiled slightly. It felt good to have a plan. "We can leave tomorrow. Is that enough time for you to write your letters, Dr. Sarmit?"

She nodded. She had already pulled out a legal pad and started outlining, though she may have just been noting her thoughts from the meeting with Loki.

"Then let's get going. Bruce, can you start your shift early? I will have to meet with Fury today too. And you'll have to take over that tomorrow, Tony."

"Ugh, kill me now. Or buy me a case of bourbon to bring with. Either way." Bruce grinned as he strode from the room.

"Come on, doctor. We're on a schedule now." He stood, switched off the monitor, and turned to leave. On the way out of the house, Captain Rogers peaked into Loki's room one last time. He was back in bed and seemed to be asleep, though there was a mostly empty bowl of soup on the little table next to Loki's empty chair. "Bruce is on his way, Heather. We have to go now, so the house will be on total lockdown for a couple minutes." She nodded.

Shortly, Steve and Dr. Sarmit were in the car and passing Bruce driving the opposite direction on the narrow neighborhood lane. Bruced waved. Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce must have been speeding to get here so quickly, and Steve hadn't even realized how nervous he was at leaving Loki unguarded for even a short time. It was going to be tough to be in Asgard with no news at all for who knew how long. But it would be worth it if it could help fix the shattered god. Even though Loki had done so many unforgivable things, it made sense now. "Loki of Asgard's" rationalizations had been clear and concise. Steve couldn't help but sympathize with the man. Then a sudden thought struck him. Who the heck were Thanos and the Other? Loki had thrown the names out with the Chitauri, but Steve hadn't heard them before. From the way he had said it, they were worse than the Chitauri, too. Maybe Thor would know, and if not him Odin, but just in case… "Dr. Sarmit, do me a favor. When you talk to Loki again, see what you can find out about Thanos and the Other. I have a bad feeling it's important."

"I don't think I picked up on that—oh wait! That was towards the end wasn't it?"

"Yes, in conjunction with the Chitauri. But I've never heard of those two before."

"I will do what I can, Captain, but this is largely dependent on Loki. I can only direct the conversation so far."

"I know. Just try, and let Tony know what you find out."

"I will."

Something else to look into while he was in Asgard, as well as the character of King Odin. Thor might believe in his father, but Steve found Thor's faith hard to trust after getting to know Loki. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it would all work out. He sighed. He hoped Loki would be okay.

 **Author's note: I'm afraid that's all, folks. The only reason this story exists in the first place was because I was reading far, far too much of this kind of fiction recently, so I had to channel it into a text to get it out of my head. But this is all that has been rolling around up there. Feel free to imagine the rest yourselves. More meetings with Dr. Sarmit. Steve feels conflicted about Thor, Loki, and Odin. They learn the truth about Thanos and the Other and fight them. Loki is saved. Loki is lost. Imagine whatever you feel suitable. And I'm sorry for sharing my horrid vision with you.**


	7. Slings and Arrows

**Surprise! I guess I lied when I said it was over. The characters may not be mine, but it seems part of my brain is theirs.**

"You have said before that the... year of punishment after Vali and Narfi died was the _second_ worst year of your life. If it's not too difficult, could you tell us what is the first?"

Loki was silent for a long time. Natasha didn't think he would answer at all. She started to wonder if they had lost "Prince Loki" again and this was Odinson. The Prince, for now at least, seemed to be the most fleeting of Loki's personalities, despite Dr. Sarmit's best efforts in the last week. They had spoken at length again with Loki of Asgard and discovered he was an even more unreliable megalomaniac than he first appeared; they had suffered through hours of stilted and largely one-sided conversation with Odinson, learning very little except for the degree of revulsion he felt for The Mask; they had and been rewarded with only brief glimpses of the Prince. Today was a better day in that regard. The Prince had emerged this morning after an hour of interviewing Loki of Asgard, who had, it seemed, finally gotten bored and frustrated with the proceedings and his inability to simply get up and leave or teleport away. One moment, the peculiar god was idly needling at his psychiatrist, trying to aggravate her enough to go away, the next, he half-zoned out, blinked, and apologized for his lapse in attention. He was, yet again, an entirely different person, charming, regal, and articulate, and Natasha could see why Thor still held his brother in such high esteem if this was the face he displayed most frequently in Asgard.

Just as Dr. Sarmit seemed ready to ask another question and let this one lapse for a while, Loki spoke. "I don't think that is a story even you would actually enjoy hearing, my lady Doctor, Lady Romanoff." Natasha glanced at Sarmit briefly-only the Prince deigned use her name. Loki of Asgard always called her "Assassin," and Odinson wasn't big on names.

"Well, I certainly thank you for considering us, Loki, but we are more concerned about you right now. Please, if you can tell us, tell us," Sarmit said.

Loki raised an elegant eyebrow at the pair of them. "I am honored... If you feel you must know, it was the year following my fall from the Bifrost."

Dr. Sarmit and Natasha waited silently. Loki seemed content to let them wait. His gaze had flicked back down to the pathetic doll in his lap, essentially faceless at this point. Loki frowned at it, almost as if he was puzzled by its appearance. But he did not launch into another panic attack, or even remark on it.

Finally, Dr. Sarmit ventured, "Can you tell us more about that?"

Loki looked up at her. His mouth opened, but he caught himself. He looked away. "I would rather not say."

"Why is that?"

He smiled faintly. "It was, after all, the worst year of my life."

Despite herself, Natasha nodded slightly. She wouldn't want to share stories from her worst years either.

Sarmit pressed, "We can't make you talk about it, Loki, but it might be helpful for _you_ to let someone else know what happened."

Loki looked her dead in the eyes, then looked up in the corner of the room at Stark's tiny video camera. "Turn off the sound," he said.

Natasha was surprised. No one had actually told Loki they were monitoring him remotely, she was pretty sure, and they certainly hadn't told him where the cameras were. But then, he was an Evil Genius. It wouldn't have been that hard to figure out.

Dr. Sarmit didn't even wait to confer with Natasha. "Of course. I believe the Avengers will require continued video feed, but you have every right to privacy in these conversations. I will have to update the others on your status, but the details of anything you tell me will be confidential. And this applies to Agent Romanoff as well. Can you abide by that, Natasha?"

Natasha nodded. Dr. Sarmit had already briefed the team on patient confidentiality requirements and restricted access to the live audio feed after the first interview, though Jarvis could override the restriction for security purposes if something happened.

"Is it alright for Natasha to stay, Loki?"

Fortunately, he nodded acquiescence; Natasha would not have been happy to leave Loki and the doctor unchaperoned, with Loki gaining in strength, though they had discussed that eventuality as well.

The humans waited. The god shifted uncomfortably, re-positioned the doll. He was stalling. They waited.

At last, "I fell through the Void for months, at least I calculated it to be months after the fact. It was difficult to tell at the time. There was nothing, just empty darkness dividing me from distant stars. You can have no idea what it's like. It was cold, terribly cold. Cold enough to... reveal my Jotun skin again... which I hated." Loki's expression darkened for a moment, but he thankfully did not revert to another personality as Natasha feared he might. "I couldn't breathe, at least not once I had fallen beyond a furlough from the edge. The Bifrost sustains only the barest atmosphere, you see... For months, I was breathless, voiceless. I couldn't die, couldn't sleep, couldn't even scream, though I certainly tried at first. There is powerful magic in the Void that latched onto my own magic and sustained me, whether I liked it or not. It...was not comfortable. The magic of the Void felt like it scalded my insides, even as the Void itself was freezing."

He stopped, and seemed to be shivering. Heather drifted over to the threshold from the kitchen, but Prince Loki waved her away. He was still himself. She nodded and went back. Loki continued, "My own thoughts were worse. The Void is unchanging, and with nothing new to distract me, I had far too much time to dwell on what I had done and failed to do. I-I feared then that I would fall forever, undying, and I would never see my little ones again, not even Hela. I imagined I saw their faces and heard their voices from deep within the Void. I knew they were hallucinations brought on by lack of other stimulus and the press of powerful magic upon my mind, but I couldn't help my panic at the thought that ...all of them... had somehow ended up out here as well, rather than safe in Niflheim with Hela... Or that Niflheim itself had somehow been attacked and was swallowed by the Void, while I was falling and unable to help."

He shuddered. He was squeezing the doll with his hands, fingers shifting around it restively. He otherwise remained outwardly calm. "I was overjoyed when I finally struck something. It wasn't even a true realm, just a moon, I guess, that nearly destroyed me with the impact. But at least it was something material, not emptiness. The Void's magic still held me then, or I might have truly died. I lay, helpless, on the lifeless moon for some time, probably a couple weeks before I was able to summon the energy to heal myself. My healing powers are normally more limited and difficult for me to direct, but not then. That was the only time I actually managed to harness the Void's magic and not the other way around." He sounded almost proud at that statement, but his hands were growing more agitated. Natasha suspected something worse than the Void was around the bend. "In retrospect, it may have been better if I had simply given up and allowed myself to 'heal' into a crippled state, and probably never left that moon. Then, Thanos may never have gained an interest in me."

Loki stopped talking, and Natasha held her breath. This was something the Avengers really needed to hear. Unfortunately, Loki looked ready to clam up again. Natasha let her air back out as quietly as she could and made herself breathe normally. She was frustrated, but it wouldn't help to get mad at Loki. That would probably just bring back a less helpful personality. She glanced at Sarmit, who still watched Loki carefully. His whole body had tensed up, though he hadn't shifted position, and his hands still gripped the doll like a vise.

"It's ok, Loki, go on."

Loki started, then relaxed slightly. "Thanos was there, maybe not originally, but as soon as I made my presence known magically. He rules all the Dead Spaces abandoned by other life between the realms, and he is utterly depraved. The "Mad Titan," he is called. He is invulnerable and immortal. His power is like the Void-burning and freezing, with added malice. I am not sure what he is, but he thinks of himself as the lord of the Void and seeks to rule the nine realms as well. That is why he was interested in me. He thought I could retrieve the tools he would need to actually conquer other realms... I wasn't interested in becoming his pawn." Loki bared his teeth suddenly. "He's a terrible liar, you know. I could see through all his promises." His harsh grin faded quickly and was replaced by a total lack of emotion. "I was unable to escape the moon. Perhaps I could have with the power of the Void, but Thanos was able to prevent me from accessing it. He... he..." His voice failed, and he was shaking. Hesitantly, Natasha rose and walked over. She could tell they were close to the meat of the story. Slowly, she reached out a comforting hand to the god's shoulder. As soon as she touched him, he flinched away from her and bellowed as if in pain. His fingers suddenly broke through the thick plastic skull of the doll in his lap, but he didn't even notice. He grasped all the harder, cracking the plastic into rough fragments that dug into his fingers.

Natasha knelt and put her hands over his, trying to prevent him from actually cutting himself on the brittle plastic. Heather hurried back into the room as well, but did not yet intervene. "Loki, what happened?" Natasha asked urgently, though she had a pretty good guess. "Did he hurt you?"

Loki breathed in raggedly and stilled. Staring into space, he slowly nodded. "Oh, yes. For months. He was very creative." Remarkably, he was still lucid Prince Loki. Natasha had thought he had switched to Odinson. Maybe he did for a moment. She wondered if the Prince personality was just hanging on at this point through sheer determination, or desperation to share the burden of whatever horrors he had endured. He paused for a moment, then suddenly shook free of Natasha and started picking apart the loose pieces of plastic littering his legs that once formed some semblance of a baby's head. He carefully stacked the fragments inside the remaining hollow, then wrapped up the whole thing and handed it to Natasha abruptly. She fumbled to take it. He motioned her back to her seat. She stood awkwardly and obliged. Loki sat up straight in his chair, apparently at ease, steepled his fingers, and began to lecture the three women in an authoritative tone.

Caught off guard, Natasha and Heather both stared at him in confusion and then horror as he listed off a vast array of tortures he had endured at Thanos' hands. Dr. Sarmit took notes feverishly, but her hand shook. Apparently, the god for half a year was burned and frozen by turns, whipped and cut, bound and hung, stretched and crushed, bones broken, disemboweled, drowned, drugged, psychically attacked, magically excruciated, and physically violated, all while continuously exposed to the ravaging energy of the Void, which kept him alive to endure the torment even after his own magic had faded to a trickle. Eventually, Loki informed them dispassionately, he was too weak to resist much longer and instead bent the incoherent remainder of his mind to the business of escape. That, he concluded, was when he decided to go along with Thanos' wishes, with the intent to betray him when the time was right. The sordid tale finished, Loki concluded, "Once I had agreed, Thanos was quick to set me up as leader of the Chitauri army and send me here. You know the rest." Loki began to inspect his fingers and clean under his nails, a perfect picture of unconcern. He made no move to reclaim the broken doll from Natasha. The three humans just sat in shock for a moment. Taking it all in.

"How are you doing right now, Loki?" Dr. Sarmit ventured.

He glanced up at her casually. "I am quite well, doctor," he replied, "Although I must say you are looking a little under the weather. I would get up and make you some tea or something, but walking far is still a bit of a chore, as you know. Why don't you take a break for a bit?" His voice was kind and understanding, reminiscent to Natasha at least of a considerate university professor more than anything else.

This was very odd. It was almost as if... Natasha gasped and looked from Loki to Heather to Dr. Sarmit, whose eyebrows had shot halfway up her forehead. They were all thinking the same thing. Was this yet another personality?

Seemingly oblivious to the new thoughts swirling through his companions' minds, Loki rocked quietly in his chair, perhaps lost in thought. Then he looked to Natasha and held out his arms for the doll. Wordlessly, she passed it back to him. He did not cradle it, merely looked at the broken toy with an expression caught between regret and pity. "I think I will miss this thing." He set the bundle down on the floor beside his chair and looked at Natasha. "What did you do with... the body? Njalli's body?"

"Um... he's in the morgue back at Stark Tower."

For a brief moment, Loki's face flickered between relief, fear, and careful neutrality. "You didn't bury him yet, then. I'm glad. Do you... think I could see him?"

Natasha looked uncertainly at Dr. Sarmit, who was slow to answer. "It could certainly be arranged, Loki, but are you sure you want to see him now?"

He nodded, but then grimaced and said, "No, not now. But sometime soon, perhaps, it will be time."

Sarmit nodded at him, then spoke again. "Loki, do you remember discussing something called 'dissociative identity disorder' earlier?"

A faint smile tugged at the god's cheek. " _I_ don't remember discussing it, but I'm sure some of the others do." He chuckled softly at their expressions. "Why don't you call me Scholar? It might save you some confusion later."

 **Author's note: So, I guess this story won't just be dead, but I wouldn't hold my breath for more updates if I were you. They may come soon, or it may be months. I don't really have a set direction for the story at this point beyond a vague outline of what seems likely to happen in a story such as this. I promise I will be good and at least think about what the end might be... Enjoy.**


	8. Scholasticism

**Nope, characters still not mine.**

 **Picking up immediately where we left off:**

"Ok, then..." Sarmit was taking her time finding the right words in light of this new information. "Why do you call yourself Scholar?" she eventually asked.

Scholar raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. "Truth be told, Doctor, I did not call myself 'Scholar' until now. I did not call myself anything. I have been... a constant observer, you might say, for centuries of your time. I see all that passes as these other 'personalities' as you call them control our mind and body. Very rarely do the others relinquish control to me, and I never fight for that control. The only time I consistently surface, at least until recently, was when the one you call 'Prince' would read, alone and content, back in Asgard. If his thoughts wandered, he subconsciously allowed me to keep reading. I'm probably only here at the moment because no one else was willing to talk about our miserable time with Thanos in any detail."

"Right... Did the Prince never notice that you had turned pages, or did he just assume he had not been paying attention...? Can you even tell?"

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed that the Prince is a little oblivious when it comes to the rest of us, and even when it comes to the grimmer memories _he_ has. I sometimes think it's intentional, like a politician ignoring the mutterings of the opposition in public. It isn't a weakness, but a skillful technique. The way I see it, he must ignore us in order to remain functional. Fitting in to the royal role expected of Prince Loki, second son of the Allfather and esteemed god of magic, is his soul in a way. There is absolutely no room in him for some of 'Loki of Asgard's' darker thoughts or 'Odinson's' emotional paralysis; there is no room for any madness of any kind in him, because madness, or certainly this 'Dissociative Identity Disorder,' is not an illness that occurs in Asgard, not an illness an Asgardian prince could fall prey to. Conveniently forgetting is much more permissible, and utilitarian."

He smiled slightly, then. "I help him, actually. I am able to share the memories I contain with the others at will, and to take up the memories the others try to cast away completely. I do my best to keep the harmony, offering up the information they need in order to carry on, keeping back some things that would hurt them, or cause us to make even worse decisions than we already do. Unfortunately, even I was not able to take on all the pain that lead up to our agreeing to the abortive invasion of your world; I apologize. The torment was too pervasive. I think we all must hold those memories, as we to an extent share all our... most intense memories." His gaze turned distant, then his lips curled in a sad smile. "The one you call Odinson was truly amazing in those months on that dead world. A traditional Asgardian would typically scoff at his raw emotionality, but he put both the Prince and Loki of Asgard to shame, willingly retaining his conscious control and enduring the pain for ages. He only gave up and let the others take over when Thanos' thugs in a moment of sick inspiration literally started to flay our skin... like a deer after a hunt." He shuddered slightly, and a hand moved to to his shirt, precisely tracing what Natasha realized in horror had apparently been part of a long surgical incision. Scholar looked back at Sarmit and carefully moved his hands to the armrests. "You see until then, he thought it was less important to escape Thanos than to prevent 'The Mask' from taking over and putting his own nefarious plots into action. That came to make a lot more sense in retrospect."

His voice had tinged just a trace bitter, though his face remained neutral and pleasant. If Natasha had to describe Scholar's attitude in one word, it would be "stoic." She mulled over what he had said, trying desperately not to dwell on the image of Loki's skin slipping off like a glove, while Dr. Sarmit also gathered her thoughts. Thankfully, she recalled something else, "Oh! When we first met Loki of Asgard and were discussing Odinson with him, he remembered something Odinson had said only after we asked him about it-you told him, didn't you?"

Scholar grinned. "Good catch, Agent Romanoff. Yes, indeed. Although, if I recall, Odinson was not actually the one you quoted to Loki of Asgard. I believe it was in truth the Prince. Loki of Asgard is only aware of Odinson, just as Odinson is only aware of Loki of Asgard, so they attribute all of the memories I give them to each other. I can only share with them what happened, not the feelings that developed with events. They must fill in the emotional response themselves." He paused, perhaps to let them digest this latest revelation, but then added, "By the way, 'Loki of Asgard' is far too long a moniker to use in casual conversation, not to mention confusing, since we are all Loki. Even Odinson's 'Mask' is better, though 'Odinson' itself could be improved. Why haven't you people come up with better names for us yet?"

Natasha shrugged and answered, "It's worked well enough so far."

Sarmit's eyes had narrowed, though. "Putting that aside for now, exactly how many are you-are there still more we haven't yet met that you know of?"

"Very good question, Doctor, and wise of you to ask it while you can; I can rarely tell when one of the others is going to take control, though I expect I will still be here a while yet. There are indeed others you have not met, or at least, you have not realized you met them if you have, I'm not sure if you noticed some of them. You know Loki of Asgard, Odinson, the Prince, and me. There are at least two others. One I might suggest you call 'Lady Loki,' for reasons that will be obvious as soon as you meet her. She's a charmer, as you Americans say." He chuckled delicately, but sobered quickly. "The other, I do not think you will like so well. He is quite new, and quite savage. He only emerged after we found out our Jotun heritage, and he has a visceral hatred for Odin, far more profound than even Loki of Asgard. Loki of Asgard's angst is primarily motivated by resentment towards Odin and Thor, and the repugnance he feels for Odinson's fear of the Allfather, from what I understand of them, at least. The new one from what little I've witnessed is fixated on perceived betrayal... I'm sorry I can't be more precise than that-he is too new. All he seems to do is formulate and launch attacks against Odin. I have known the others for so long-two years is not enough time to figure this one out sufficiently."

"You've given us quite a bit to go on, Scholar. I'd be pretty content if this was all you had to offer," Sarmit said. Natasha silently agreed; it seemed they were finally witnessing Loki's famed intellect to its full extent. And yet he was still dissatisfied with his understanding of his other selves. "But you mentioned something... you said there are 'at least two others' we haven't met, the lady and this new one. Do you think there could be more that even you don't know about?" Natasha hadn't even picked up on that phrasing, but from the open frustration now growing across Scholar's face, it had clearly been intentional word choice.

"Unfortunately, yes, and perhaps you will be able to help me with this problem. There are some times on Midgard, for perhaps the past fifty of your years, when I have no memory of what happened. The others are all too good at turning a blind eye to these sorts of inconsistencies to notice, but I see everything. My memory should have no gaps. I don't understand why it does. Either there is another personality entirely which is completely divided off from the rest of us, or else someone or something outside has deliberately taken steps to block my awareness. Whatever it is, it only happens when we are on Midgard-we are always already here when it starts, and still here when it stops... It is strange, isn't it? After centuries of just five of us, there are now possibly two more in just fifty years. Granted, a lot else has happened recently, but... I don't like the feeling that we are getting worse, fast." He fell silent, brooding. Natasha suspected that much of Scholar's time, however much he actually had to himself, was spent pondering this problem. He was clearly annoyed at his inability to find a solution, given the vagaries of effectively sharing a brain and body with five or more other people. She imagined he was quietly fearing the time when his mind was so fragmented as to be totally incoherent, a fate worse than death for anyone called "Scholar." Scholar sighed, then leaned forward with a new intensity, a note of pleading in his eyes. "If any of you notice that I am acting in a way inconsistent with what I've told you about us, please let me know. Remember, it doesn't matter who you are talking to. I will hear you. You must understand, I have to know."

"Of course we will say something," the women said together.

"Thank you."

There was a bit of a lull for a moment, before Sarmit spoke again. "I have never heard of anything quite like you in Dissociative Identity, Scholar. The identities normally have no awareness of each other and no memory at all of what occurs when another personality is in place..."

The Scholar smiled politely at her. "Well, until all of this happened to me, I had never heard of such a thing either, because I was living on Asgard, where none of this should exist. Never forget, my clever doctor, that despite the fact that your diagnosis does seem to fit me remarkably well, I am not actually human. I think we are lucky you aren't even more out of your depth. Also, I feel I should mention while I'm here, that the medications you have been giving us, antidepressants and antipsychotics I believe you said to Heather, are having absolutely no effect. I can already tell. You may not be ready to believe me for a while, I suppose, but you will see eventually. I'm afraid the chemistry of my brain is far more different from a human's than my psychology is."

"Well, I suppose that wouldn't be surprising, but I do want to keep you on them a while longer just in case something changes. I may also try some different kinds of medicines with different ways of working."

Scholar shrugged. "The drugs are causing no harm either, so I don't care."

"Ok then. Now, I have so many questions for you. I want you to tell me everything about yourself. If you have any more ideas about the motivations, origins, emotions, whatever of any of the others, I want to hear that too. However, from what you have said, I am aware that our time today may be brief, depending on when someone else comes through, so before we get into that, I have a few things I want to talk about first. Most importantly, if you are willing, please let us know any time you find yourself in control, so we can talk further. Day or night." Scholar inclined his head in instant agreement. "Second, do you have specific names for the others it would be helpful for us to use while you are observing?"

He snorted softly. "Not really-I didn't even have a name for myself. Odinson and Prince work well enough, I suppose. 'Lady' should be adequate for the female. I still don't like 'Loki of Asgard,' and I have no name for the new one that showed up when we discovered we were Jotun. Or for the potential other on Midgard."

The group thought for a moment in silence. Natasha smirked to herself and spoke up, "Since the new one is so anti-Odin, anti-Asgard, do you think it would be apt to describe him as a 'Loki of Jotunheim'?"

Scholar raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps, though I am certain 'Loki of Asgard' would not appreciate that name, and that retaining both of those names will become quite tiresome for you."

"So call them LOA and LOJ." And to Natasha in the privacy of her own mind, they could be LO-asshole and LO-jerk. It would be satisfying, at least. LOA was irritating, and LOJ sounded very unpleasant.

Scholar studied her. "Acceptable. I doubt 'Loki of Jotunheim' will ever hold a civil enough conversation to introduce himself as he would prefer, so LOJ it is."

Right. Natasha had to remember that though Scholar seemed likable enough, he was a neutral in Loki's inner war and didn't seem to actively dislike any of his counterparts. It wouldn't do to be too disrespectful in his presence.

Dr. Sarmit chimed in, disrupting Natasha's train of thought, "I think we could call the potential other Midgard identity simply your Alterego, since we have no idea as of yet what he or she is like. Or if this identity even exists as such. We can get more specific later if need be, but if we find out anything, that is the word I will use to alert you, Scholar. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I like it."

"Lastly, are you aware of any specific triggers that bring forth particular personalities, including you? Besides reading, I guess."

Scholar cocked his head to one side, thinking. "That is an excellent thought, Doctor. I will have to think about it further. Reading with the Prince is the only thing that comes to mind for me. The Prince himself is only present when things are relatively calm or he feels obliged to be present in some way. Royal duty, I suppose. He is hard even for me to pin down in that. The Lady is also unpredictable-it seems to depend partly on her taste in men, though she is also present more frequently when we have little ones around..." Scholar's forehead creased for a moment, but then smoothed over again as he continued. "I have no idea about the Alterego, as he is relatively new and mysterious, if he is even there. Here." He reached for Sarmit's notepad and pen, taking it before she had a chance to object. He flipped a page and rapidly wrote a list down the whole page in sharp and neat calligraphy. He handed the notepad back to Sarmit. "Those are all the dates and locations of memory disturbance that I recall. And I did use your American calendar. Perhaps you may notice a pattern for the Alterego that I missed. Moving on, LOJ I have only seen in Asgard, generally in the presence of Odin or Thor. LOA comes as he pleases now, so long as Odinson, or sometimes the Prince, does nothing to stop him. Odinson actually seems to be the most... dominant, you might say. Unless he willingly relinquishes control, I don't know that anyone else can take over from him, and he seems much more able to seize power when he needs to. And certainly, he is driven by powerful, piercing needs. He is... he reminds me of the Void, minus the innate terror: an apparently empty container that by nature has to rip substance away from outside to fill itself, yet is at the same time filled to bursting with this wretched harvest... and another pain and deeper love entirely his own..." Scholar's thoughts were becoming fragmented, and his face flickered with warring emotions. Natasha suspected they were losing him, but neither she nor Sarmit dared interrupt for fear of saying the wrong thing and hastening the transition. Fortunately, he seemed to recover partially. "I'm sorry, that probably made little sense. I confess that though I am eternal witness to our actions, I am not privy to the thoughts and feelings of the others, unless they make them evident. I have to guess. I almost have to guess more about Odinson, because he is less active, less articulate, more... just feeling. Odinson is certainly more likely to emerge when emotions are running high or the situation is hopeless... or both, as is usually the case with him... with us..." The implacable facade Scholar had maintained for the past two hours dissolved. Tears leaked anew from Loki's eyes. He slumped in his chair, and his hands clenched on nothing. He stared into space. "It wasn't real," he whispered.

With a small sigh of disappointment, Natasha rose and went to him, laying a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "What wasn't real, Loki?"

He sniffed, and folded his arms around himself. "The baby. It's cracked and useless, just a pathetic, human model of what should have been mine. I was a fool." He bowed his head, and his shoulders shook.

Natasha hugged him. When he was like this, it was so easy to forget the other sides of him, though now her thoughts lingered on Scholar's dire description of this Loki's all-consuming needs. The vicious cycle of grief and infanticide was starting to make more sense. "Shh... it's okay, Loki."

"It isn't," he gasped. "I'm a prating fool, and I failed my child. Failed all my children. I am worthless. A monster beyond redemption." He pushed her away. "You should kill me, human. I wouldn't stop you."

"Hush. It wasn't all your fault..."

"Hah. Fools. Both of us."

"Can you talk about it with us, Loki?" Dr. Sarmit ventured. Her tone said she didn't expect much from her patient; they both recognized this as Odinson again.

"Leave me."

 **Author's note: Back to the Cap next time; definitely not to be published right away, because different spot, new characters talking-it won't be as easy as this chapter to write, since this chapter flowed directly from the last.**

 **In other news, thank you, reviewers, I'm gratified you are enjoying this, and I hope you keep enjoying it.**


	9. Meanwhile, Back on Another Planet

**In the history of human events, there are a number of truths. Russian winter always wins. Undefeated conquerors die young. The Mongols are the exception. You can't always get what you want. Universal statements are always wrong. The Avengers still aren't mine.**

Steve's red, white, and blue shield slammed into the target dummy, smashing it to smithereens, then continued on to lodge in the wall of the palace's smaller training yard. Steve muttered a curse (though not a really bad one). He hadn't been paying attention when he threw; he hadn't meant to crack the wall. Something about being stuck useless in Asgard was really costing him in his ability to concentrate. Mechanically, Steve trudged over to the wall to retrieve his weapon and waited as a spell automatically reconstructed the dummy and, he noted wryly, the wall. Really, this yard was too small to be throwing his shield around too much, but Steve was avoiding the Asgardians in the larger arena right now. They kept bothering him to demonstrate his skills, unwilling to believe for a moment that a Midgardian could actually earn the respect, not just friendship, of an Asgardian prince, let alone offer any sort of challenge. Most scoffed when Thor had mentioned that Steve had managed to nudge Mjolnir once, claiming it must have been an optical illusion or something. None of them had managed to embarrass him in the ring yet, but it was tiresome.

He was bored and frustrated, having been on Asgard for over two weeks without seeming to accomplish anything. He was tired of waiting on Odin's royal prerogative. He had not been allowed into the Allfather's presence since he and Thor first got back and broke the news about Loki. Thor met with Odin everyday, but so far had nothing to show for it. Lady Eir had been more than willing to listen to Steve, but she freely admitted she would be of little help with respect to Loki's psychological problems. She was quite fascinated by Dr. Sarmit's letter and the books the psychiatrist had sent with Steve; it seemed the only true mental disorder Asgardians were prey to was "going berserk" on the battle field. Apparently, this was pretty rare and thought to be a congenital inclination wherein in the heat of battle, a male warrior could suddenly lose all sense of self and live only for continuing warfare. He would literally fight until he died, consuming the flesh and blood of his victims as he killed and pausing for rest only when utterly physically exhausted in the meantime. "Berserkers" had to be constrained and imprisoned until another war broke out, or else killed lest they progress to wantonly attack anyone who came near them. Generally, they were considered too dangerous to keep alive. There was no treatment. It was disturbing to learn the actual origins of the berserker legends on Earth, Steve thought. Anyways, after reading up on the myriad complex psychological conditions affecting humans, Lady Eir wholeheartedly agreed that Loki as a Jotun seemed to be much more in line with Midgardian rather than Asgardian psychology. She consented to speak to Odin about her opinions, but that was the extent of her assistance.

The target dummy disintegrated in a resounding crunch again. This time, the shield ricocheted smoothly back to his hand, to the Captain's satisfaction. As he waited the seconds necessary for the dummy to reform, he heard a hail from behind. Turning, Steve saw Lady Sif entering the yard from the shadows of the palace. The Warriors Three trailed behind her. Steve waved in acknowledgment. Of all the Asgardians he had met in the last few weeks, he liked these four friends of Thor the best. They went out of their way to engage with Steve, because he was also a Friend of Thor. Even though all four shared a deep distrust of all things Loki, they had tried to support Steve's mission for Thor's sake

"Well met, Captain of America," Lady Sif intoned, with a slight smile.

"Good afternoon."

"We come with news from Queen Frigga - she would like to speak with you come sunset."

"Oh?" This was good news. Frigga, still a doting mother despite everything, had been almost frantic, in a weirdly restrained kind of way, when she heard about Loki, interrogating Thor and Steve for hours while ever maintaining the demeanor of a gracious hostess. She had long-since promised to work on softening Odin, but, just like Thor, had so far failed. Maybe that was changing. "I would be pleased to meet with the Queen at her pleasure."

"Excellent." The four Asgardians continued their advance, joining Steve before the now-reformed straw dummy. Lady Sif inspected it. "Do you want a better sparring partner while you wait?" Hogun helpfully shrugged his mace from the strap on his back and twirled it.

Steve grinned wryly at the four of them. "Why not?"

The other three drew weapons and squared off. They had all dueled before, and had recently taken to the hectic every-man-and-woman-for-him-or-herself melee instead. Sif kicked things off by aiming a boot at Volstagg's groin. The huge warrior deftly avoided her, swinging an axe by her head before lumbering past her to clobber Hogun, who ducked out of the way. Steve spun his shield at Hogun as well, and leaped into the fight, though he quickly had to swerve to avoid Fandral's sword. He caught his returning shield without looking, blocked Fandral's second attack with it, and began trading blows with Sif with his left hand. It was glorious chaos, each of them launching attacks almost indiscriminately, but always stopping a hairs breadth away from landing anything potentially lethal. Not that that happened too often with such seasoned fighters as these. Even Volstagg's movements were precise and effortless, despite his bulk. Steve was proud to hold his own. He ducked under another blow from Hogun's mace, and rolled away from Fandral's swipe. Unfortunately, an attack from Volstagg brought him up short in the center of the ring. The surrounding Asgardians each raised a weapon to strike. Steve could do nothing but crouch under his shield as the four blows landed, almost simultaneously. But, as soon as they had and started sliding off, he jumped straight up with all his strength, grabbing the handle of Hogun's mace as he did so to propel him back to the periphery. He launched his shield at Sif, and grinned as it perfectly bounced off her to strike every one of the Warriors Three in turn, knocking each off balance and drawing a series of satisfyingly pained grunts, before zooming back to his hand as intended.

The fight continued for a while, but slowed to a less frantic pace. Finally, they agreed to a break, then settled into simple one-on-one duels for the remainder of the afternoon. Steve bowed out an hour before his meeting with Frigga, so he could clean up slightly. The Asgardian queen probably wouldn't have cared if he showed up fresh from the training yards, being Thor's mother, but Steve was far too polite to break with the niceties he imagined palace decorum probably demanded. Thor hadn't really given him much direction in that regard, nor had anybody else for that matter. Steve shook the dull thoughts from his head. He needed to focus now. He stopped before the queen's chamber door. A couple of guards stared placidly at him, unconcerned and unhelpful, and a tiny bit smug. Steve sighed. That was what he didn't like about Asgard. "The queen summoned me," he said.

A guard nodded, knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting for an answer. Steve stepped through to a spacious chamber. It was another miracle of Asgardian architectural might. The walls were stone, of course, but so delicately fashioned were the molding elements that they might have been sculpted from wax, then painted an iridescent silvery-gold. Ribbed pillars soared to an arched ceiling Steve estimated as twenty feet high. The floor was a precise mosaic, with a dizzying pattern like a fern fractal Steve had seen at an art show Dr. Banner had dragged him to last year. A breeze moved throughout the room from the large balcony, and Steve could hear the soft sound of chimes and Asgardian wind-flutes. Glancing around, Steve could see several furnished coves at the edges of the enormous room, but most of the floor space was grandly empty. Typical aesthetics for this palace. Very un-homey. Only the actual bedrooms, it seemed, were limited to a living size here.

"Captain? Thank you for coming - I am on the balcony."

Steve walked across the room and up a couple steps to reach the wide balcony overlooking the city, spires sparkling scarlet in the setting sun. The larger moon was already rising, Steve saw. Asgard's queen was seated on a stone bench built into the rail. She looked mettled, radiant, and timeless, with waves of thick, loose red-gold curls framing strong facial features then delicately merging into the intricate embroidery of her robes, making the cloth a sort of continuation of her person, rather than a simple garment to be worn and eventually discarded. Steve stopped several paces short of her and bowed. "Your majesty." Frigga smiled up at him and gestured to the other end of the bench. He sat, and waited for her to speak.

"You will be pleased to know, Captain, that I will be taking you to speak with Odin shortly."

"That is good news, your majesty."

"Yes. He has given much thought to your news regarding Loki, and has spent even more time silently observing our son with Heimdall. I think he is willing to believe what you and your Dr. Sarmit say, but there is more to consider still. Even Thor is still not aware of all."

"I see... Has he yet to make a decision, then?"

"That is why he will see you now. Come, walk with me." She rose and headed back into her cavernous chambers. Steve followed. They proceeded into the hallway and took the private family corridors towards Odin's throne room. Steve couldn't for the life of him understand why Odin was so determined to conduct all of his official business in the actual throne room. It was certainly a grand and beautiful room, with stairs ascending from all directions to the receiving area before the throne, but it was not at all comfortable for prolonged conversation. Thor assured him there must be a wise reason behind all of Odin's behavior, including this. Steve though increasingly found himself mentally comparing Odin to a less agreeable version of the eccentric old wizard character from a popular children's book one of the neighborhood kids back home had told him about a couple years ago. From what Steve gathered, there was some profound wisdom in there somewhere, but it was thoroughly hidden beneath a lot of bizarre habits and a unique sense of humor. Steve shook himself out of these useless thoughts and back to the problem at hand. He had spent way too much time letting his mind wander the past couple weeks.

"Your majesty-"

"Please just call me Frigga, or Lady Frigga if you must. I think I might have said so before."

"Very well, Lady Frigga. Could you fill me in on some of the other matters you and the king are still pondering? It might save time at the meeting..."

She sighed. "I confess I would prefer to let Odin take care of that. It is a personal cowardice on my part, for which I must apologize. I fear I have been instrumental in our choice of... well, what I can now see was a poor approach to raising our Loki. I assure you, the additional explanation will not take too long."

Steve nodded in acquiescence. But he wondered what on earth (what on Asgard?) the queen was talking about. So far as Steve knew, Odin's decision should be a simple one - to officially release Loki to Steve's (or more properly, Midgard's) custody, or to maintain an Asgardian interest and stipulate demands regarding Loki's management. Thor had assured him that Odin had at least agreed not to seek Loki's immediate execution as a kinslayer, so Steve really didn't know what else there was to consider. Especially when one of the options was a simple "wait and see, decide later." He would find out soon enough.

The pair entered the throne room from a side door and walked up what felt like three flights of broad stone steps to get to Odin. The king was alone, having banished the guards to the very bottom of the steps where none but the keenest ears could hear a thing. Thor was not here. Odin did not look at Steve right away. He was staring into space with his one good eye and idly turning his spear over in his hands. Frigga raised her eyebrows at her husband's closed stance, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, then took her place by his shoulder and readied herself to speak after all. Her little smile was gone by the time she said, "I know Thor and Loki both told you something about what happened with his oldest children. Please, ask your questions about them."

Steve stared at her quizzically. This was not exactly what he expected. "Lady, I don't think you or the king wants to hear my questions about that." _You won't like them_. "I have no wish to question your past decisions, only to aid you, and your sons, in the present."

"Ah, but my dear Captain, that part of Loki's story is crucial, in more ways than you know. I won't make you ask, though. I already know the question. You want to know why Odin treated Loki and his children so harshly."

Despite himself, Steve nodded.

"You are quite right, Captain. I know Thor tried to justify our actions to you, but the truth is much simpler, and much more complex..." She trailed off. Odin did not move to help her.

Steve was itching to know the answer, so he just asked, "Was it that you were holding him to a higher standard because he is Jotun?"

Odin suddenly smiled at that, beard puffing out like the feathers of a proud mother hen. Steve was startled to note how jolly that made him seem - like an armored Santa. "No. Did Laufeyson tell you that?" the king asked.

 _Laufeyson? Oh, right..._ "Um... not in so many words, your majesty, but a lot of us Avengers guessed that."

"We never thought his Jotun heritage was a problem," Frigga assured him, with a disapproving glance at her husband, "especially since his magic naturally camouflaged him. That is no common thing, by the way. We knew he was special and thought one day he might even help bring peace between the worlds. But no, that was never our focus. As he grew, he was just our son, clever and more mischievous than Thor, but still a good boy, a good prince."

"Well, then what changed, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Frigga had a vision."

Well, that was unexpected. "A vision."

"I have the gift of foresight. Or possibly curse."

"I see... Thor never mentioned..."

"Thor does not know. He does not know of my gift, and he certainly does not know about my vision of Loki."

"Oh." Did every Asgardian have a special talent? Thunder, Healing, Wisdom, Seeing, Foresight...

"Thor would not understand. My gift is not akin to Heimdall's. Heimdall can see all of the present all of the time, unless someone skilled in magic enacts a spell to stop him. He must constantly focus his mind on specific areas to watch or else go mad with so much information. I see only random snatches of what may be. This time, I saw a vision of the far distant future, a future where my poor boy had turned against us and created monsters from his own flesh to lead against us in a catastrophic war that could topple Asgard."

Steve couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. It wasn't funny. It was terrible, but so, so obvious. "You saw Ragnarok, and fell into the classic trap of prophesy."

Odin stood up suddenly and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him in the face. His good eye had opened wide enough to show the white all the way around. "'Ragnarok' means 'twilight of the gods' in your tongue. What do you know of this, mortal?"

Steve shook his head, catching his breath. "I'm sorry your majesty. Is that what it means? Well, I fear someone learned the basics of your secret and told it to the Vikings a thousand years ago." Ragnarok was in the book Banner had found. Then a new thought occurred: "Or maybe the gift of prophesy actually does exist on Earth as well, and that's how they knew. There are certainly plenty of human 'prophesies' in all the old mythologies. Maybe they're true... Thor might not have mentioned, but all of you are vaguely known as mythological figures from the Norse tradition at home. I learned about what you saw in your vision, my lady, in a library book, about a month ago. On Midgard."

Frigga looked stunned, holding onto the back of the throne for balance. "There are others with foresight... on your world? I thought I was the only one," she said weakly.

Odin shook his head slowly, still holding onto Steve's shoulders. "This must be quite the library, Captain of America, to hold such secrets."

Steve smiled. "Not really. It's just the public library. I mean, it's a pretty big library, since it's in the city, but there must be thousands of copies of that book, all over the world. And I'm sure the story is in other books too. Most people on Midgard still don't realize you are real, you see. Norse legends are pretty much common knowledge."

Odin's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, but then he refocused, and his grip hardened. "We are getting distracted. What of this 'trap of prophesy' you mentioned?"

Steve hesitated. How do you explain to the god of wisdom, who currently has complete power over you, that he fell into a blindingly obvious error a thousand years ago? "Well, as I mentioned, there are many stories of prophesies in our ancient legends back home, and in modern fiction for that matter. It's a trope. Um... I assume you've never heard of Oedipus Rex? No reason you would have, but that's a pretty famous and clear example of what I'm talking about." A _nd disturbingly relevant_. "In the story, you see, Oedipus is the infant son of the King of Thebes, but there's a prophesy about him that when he grows up, he will murder his father and marry his mother." Both Odin's and Frigga's mouths fell open in horror. Steve hurried on before they could interrupt with questions or outrage. "Anyways, the King and Queen decided they had to prevent that, obviously, so they had the baby sent out into the woods to die. But then, a shepherd finds him and takes him in. Years later, Oedipus hears from _another_ prophet that he is doomed to kill his father and marry his mother, so he, naturally, runs away from the shepherd's home in order to save his family - he didn't realize he was adopted. As he is traveling, he meets a rude nobleman along the road, who attacks him without provocation, so they fight, and Oedipus kills him. A while later, he ends up in Thebes, which has been under attack by a sphinx, a kind of Greek monster. The king of Thebes left to discover how to get rid of the monster, but news came that he was killed on his journey. Fortunately, Oedipus manages to defeat the sphinx, and in gratitude, he is named the new king and married to the queen. They rule very happily for a while and have several children, but then Thebes is cursed again and the truth comes out. Oedipus learns exactly who he is and what he has done. The queen kills herself. Oedipus stabs his own eyes. And-" Steve stopped. Frigga's eyes were swimming, though the rest of her maintained a cool demeanor. "Um, the point is that the actions the parents took to _prevent_ the terrible prophesy coming through were actually what _caused_ it."

Odin's hands finally fell from Steve, and he sat down hard in the throne. "And you think that is what we have done."

Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Maybe. It's hard to say for sure, since I assume the actual events of the vision have not yet occurred. But you were trying to keep Loki on the straight and narrow, and it clearly didn't work. Maybe it would have if he were more like Thor, more like you, but instead you pushed him to his limits and made him angry, not submissive."

Odin and Frigga both wilted slightly, but said nothing.

Steve couldn't stop now that they were really listening, though. "You wanted to prevent his children from turning against you, so you tried to control or eliminate them. You wanted Loki to see the error in his ways and reform. The trouble was, he wasn't the one in the wrong - you were. Your efforts to forcefully gain control of the situation are what caused him to turn against you. And yes, I think you were cruel, but I think you know that."

Odin slammed his fist into the arm rest, and Steve stopped, afraid he had overstepped his place. But Odin waved a conciliatory hand at him. "I suspect you are right, Captain of America. I am angry at myself, not you. We should have anticipated this." Unconsciously, the king took Frigga's hand and squeezed. The poor queen looked a little broken, no longer an august royal so much as a sad and tired mom; Steve had just confirmed her guilt in ruining her son's life.

Steve cast about for something to say to the couple. Fortunately, he thought of something. "I think I can understand why you went wrong - you didn't know what exactly you were dealing with. You assumed Loki would be like an Asgardian, which is excusable. Even your Lady Eir had no idea, and she would have been your best resource, it seems to me. You had good reason to take precautions, though I disagree entirely with how you chose to go about it..." Steve barred his teeth in a harsh grim. "Heck, humans make exactly these mistakes too, even though the lesson is, you'd think, quite thoroughly preached at home by now. When I was young, there was something called the Eugenics Movement that proposed to improve all of humanity through selective breeding: don't let people with terrible hereditary illnesses or other 'defects' reproduce, thus 'purifying' the human race. Doesn't sound too bad, right? The same premises I guess are what lead to the science that made me.

"The prediction was a man-made one, that these actions would bring about a new era of health and prosperity for all by preventing bad or burdensome people from ever being born. But this simple logic lead to... _horrible_ atrocities. People were forcibly sterilized because they might produce 'defective' children. Then whole groups of 'inferior' or 'dangerous' people were rounded up and enslaved, tortured, experimented on, killed... all because some others were afraid of what they _might_ do in the future. And yet, we _still_ have people who willingly follow the same logic that lead to the Holocaust." Steve fumed silently for a moment. It was still all to easy for him to get lost in the evils of his past. "Um, the point is, we on Earth have conclusively shown that doing terrible things to prevent more terrible things from happening really doesn't work. You're much better off trying to be nice the first time." Frigga stared at him soulfully, radiating a kind of naked and wanton remorse that made Steve not a little uncomfortable with his tirade. "Look," he said, "you can't take back what you already did, but it might not be too late."

Instantly, the king and queen were completely attentive again. "You see a way to fix this, Captain?" Odin asked.

"Well, maybe. A chance at least. From what Loki said before I left, it sounds like a lot of even his recent schemes have been about either pleasing you or escaping you." Frigga cringed. "Sorry, but it's true. If you can find a way to reconcile, let him know you aren't going to go after his kids any more and so on, he may leave well enough alone. I'm not saying it's a sure thing!" he hastened to say as Frigga moved to speak. "In his current condition, getting him to believe you, even remember what you're trying to tell him, is going to be tough. And there may be more I don't know about him still that will make it harder. But I don't think you should give up completely."

Frigga beamed at him gratefully, though worry still held her in check. "I am sure given enough time, we can find a way, particularly with the help of your friends. Now that we know our blunder, we will not make the same mistakes."

Odin was unconvinced. "We can certainly hope, my dear, but something this man said worries me. If the truth of your vision is so well-known on Midgard, Loki probably knows of it as well."

Steve felt his gut clench. Odin was right. Loki had spent enough time on Earth, he was bound to have heard the legends about himself, and most of the legends were apparently true to some extent. But still, "I don't think our mythologies actually record the prophesies about Ragnarok as coming from Frigga. It's quite possible Loki would dismiss the legends as made up human nonsense."

"Perhaps, though knowing him, he would not ignore any possibility of truth. I fear how he might interpret your legends."

The fear was most likely valid, Steve decided. Although, the outcome probably depended on which part of Loki remembered hearing or reading about Ragnarok in any case. It was also getting to be time to wrap this up. Steve wanted to get back home. "Your majesties, I think it would be wise to discuss this with Dr. Sarmit. She will know a lot more about Loki by now and will know better than I how to proceed with what you've told me. Have you decided what you will do now?"

Both Steve and Frigga looked to Odin for the final word. He sighed. "Loki shall stay with you, for now. I do not enjoy the feeling that I have been making a terrible mistake for a millennium, and I will not be hasty and err again now. However, I shall send the raven Huginn back to Midgard with you and Thor to keep a close eye on things. As Loki grows in strength, it may be that things will change, and you will not be able to hold him."

Steve hesitated, then nodded his agreement. Again, Odin was right, whether Steve liked it or not. Loki was no threat when he left, but who knows what had changed since then? They had really only kept him temporarily years ago because he was not actively trying to escape. Of course, he had escaped Asgard's prisons somehow as well... "Is there anything else you wish to tell me, your majesty? If not, I will find Thor and prepare to leave."

"Two things, Captain of America."

Steve waited.

"Firstly, if there is a chance that the prophesies of Ragnarok you have read on Midgard do in fact originate among your people, you should know that makes your world possibly the greatest prize in the Nine Realms. Frigga's gift is unheard of among the people of Asgard, but concealable, unlike other rare gifts, which is why it has remained secret. We have never heard its like in all the worlds, until now. From what you have said, the people of your world have made no effort to keep prophesy secret, likely because they did not realize the enormous value of what they had, and thus the enormous danger. If I were you, I would take care that no one you do not trust ever suspects those ancient prophesies that no one believes in might actually be true. For even if they are not, the mere chance to see the future will be enough temptation for many. And I am sorry to tell you, the terrible history you have already endured, violence against humans by humans, the invasion of the Chitauri, would likely be nothing compared to what could be against some alien foes."

Steve was caught off guard, with a sinking dread pulling his rolling stomach down into his shins. His mind was racing. With a sick certainty, he knew Odin was right. Earth would be in incredible danger if any of their powerful neighbors decided they might have a needed resource. Steve needed to talk this over with the team urgently. They probably needed a database of every single ancient "prophesy" on the off chance it was true. They probably needed to launch a covert investigation to find out if there were any genuinely gifted modern prophets and keep tabs on them. But most of all, they needed to keep even the suspicion of real prophesy secret... On top of everything else they were doing right now...

Odin interrupted Steve's wayward train of thought. "I assure you, Captain of America, Asgard has no interest in Midgard's potential in this matter, and Frigga and I will keep this to ourselves. I would suggest you not confer about this with either of... _our sons_ , though. And I would suggest you not trouble yourself excessively about foresight - I do not need to tell you that it is more trouble than it is worth. Any attempts by you to investigate the matter will likely just draw unwanted attention."

And once again, Steve was caught off guard. Already, he had been well on his way to falling into the trap of prophesy he had just spent the last fifteen minutes calling Odin out on. And Odin was the one to point this out. _And_ the old god seemed already completely willing to accept his own mistake and move on. Loki was "Laufeyson" no longer. Maybe the ancient God of Wisdom was, in fact, wise. Steve was probably going to go insane with this new worry, though.

"For the other matter," Odin continued, unheeding of his guest's inner turmoil, "As you know, Heimdall sees all. He does not hear all. I have had him watch Loki, and your doctor friend, very closely since you have been here. Something unsettling did happen today, and though Heimdall is not completely sure what was said, it seemed Loki was describing an unspeakable torture. Now, let me be clear, Asgard may punish cruelly in your eyes, but we do not torture for the sake of torture. If I find it is as Heimdall described, and _my son_ was assaulted for no fault of his own, you should know I will take matters into my own hands to avenge Loki against the perpetrators. If what I have heard is true, they have forfeited all right to mercy. They will suffer a year of punishment for every minute Loki endured, and then they will submit to the pleasure of Hela in Nifleheim, who will not look kindly upon her father's persecutors. Oh, they will know fear and hopelessness. They will bathe in a river of their own blood, gnaw their own bones. On my honor, they will know pain." The Allfather's voice had grown louder and was filled with anger. Steve had shifted slightly away from him, and something about his final statement really struck deep. Steve could actually believe this man was Loki's father, listening now. Very unnerving. Steve looked at Frigga momentarily, and saw she looked as angry and determined as her husband now. Well, if this had just happened today, Steve at least knew why he had been summoned to speak _this_ afternoon, at long last.

The Allfather had also, thank goodness, effectively broken Steve out of his new obsession with prophesy: another thought occurred to him, something he suspected was relevant to Odin's righteous fury, something he had been meaning to bring up his entire stay here, but never quite gotten around to for some reason. Steve considered, then responded carefully. "I have no idea what exactly Heimdall witnessed, so I'll have to wait until I get back to find out. Thank you for telling me, though... If I might ask one more question while I'm here?"

The Allfather nodded stiffly, still worked up.

"Do you know anything about someone called Thanos, or the Other?"

Odin did not answer right away, but Steve could tell the king recognized the name. "Why do you ask?"

"Just something Loki mentioned. They seemed to be enemies of his."  
"I see. I may have heard the name Thanos before, but I will need to search the archives."

Which was clearly what Steve should have been doing this whole time. Oh, well. "Very well, your majesty."

Odin rose. "Come. I'm afraid you won't be able to go today, as you've made enough of an impression here to have a proper send-off when you leave. Most of the people don't realize you're here about Loki, you know. But for now, you should indeed find Thor and begin your preparations. You may leave in a few days. I would ask you not to tell him about Frigga's vision."

"Of course, your majesty." The three of them started off down the many steps. At the bottom, Steve bowed to the royal couple, and went left as they went right. Time to find Thor. And think some more about what he had learned. And worry that maybe he shouldn't have mentioned Thanos to the angry father at all. But if Odin had any information, Steve had needed to know... It was moot, now. One thing the meeting had certainly shown was that if Odin perhaps was not always suited to be god of wisdom, he could certainly be god of keeping his own counsel. Just maybe, though, if he didn't find something in the last few days here, he would be able to find some clue to Thanos' identity once he got back home and started looking through some more old stories. Steve snorted and strode off to find an Asgardian he actually liked.

 **Author's Note: the stage is set. Time to get on with Plotting. And playing fast and loose with mythology. ;)**

 **PS: I went back and added chapter names, finally, for better or worse. If you are appalled at any of my somewhat off-the-cuff titles and have a better one in mind, feel free to let me know.**


	10. Fitful Conversation, Mild Conflagration

**This land is my land, this land is your land. These characters aren't. Bonus chapter week!**

"He's been up and walking around again today, which seems to put him in a better mood. He's been pretty reasonable all morning, actually," Bruce said quietly over the phone as Natasha and Dr. Sarmit were held up in traffic on the way to the house. It was taking longer than usual, probably because of an accident, judging by the sirens.

"Good," Natasha said. "I'm sick of LOA. It would be a nice change to talk to the Prince again, or Scholar. We haven't seen him since that first time a couple days ago."

"LOA?"

"Loki of Asgard is such a mouthful. Scholar agreed with me about that. He and Sarmit and I came up with nicknames for all the personalities. So far, we've met LOA, Odinson, Prince, and Scholar. Apparently, we have yet to officially meet the Lady, Alterego, and LOJ (Loki of Jotunheim)."

"How did I miss this part of the debriefing?"

"I didn't realize you had. You were on guard duty at the time, but I asked Tony to fill you in later. I guess he didn't. Anyways, as I definitely told you before, Scholar is the personality that holds on to all the memories, more like an observer most of the time, not the personality in control, but always conscious. According to Scholar, LOJ is the most dangerous one, almost feral in his hatred for Odin. The Lady is a female consciousness, and presumably one of the reasons for all the kids. We still don't know what the Alterego really is; even Scholar doesn't have all those memories, but he knows Alterego exists because of the gaps in his knowledge. As far as we know, Alterego only ever emerges on Earth, but it's at times when SHIELD doesn't have any records of any Loki-related activity at all. He's a bit of a mystery."

"Huh. So for all we know, there may actually be multiple Alteregos too."

Dr. Sarmit said, "It is possible, of course, but I am hopeful that the list we have as of now is complete. Any other updates this morning, Dr. Banner?"

"Not that I know of, but I'll ask Heather. Hang on a moment."

They waited for a moment, and then Heather came on the line. "I do have another update, in fact." Her tone was odd, as if she was still surprised at her own news.

"Yes?"

"Um, well. I guess there's not really a good way to say this, but... I have a suspicion Loki's magic may be coming back-"  
"What?" Bruce wasn't quite yelling, but he was easily heard in the background.

"Shut up, unless you want Loki to come investigate. Those headphones Mr. Stark got him aren't completely noise-canceling. Don't worry, it's definitely not what you think; he hasn't done anything, it's just, um..."

"Spit it out, Heather, the suspense is killing us."

"Right, sorry. Well you see, his body changed. He's physically male again."

"Oh." That was not what Natasha had been expecting.

"I see," said Dr. Sarmit, looking just as surprised as Natasha felt. "Did he say anything about it?"

"No, it's just something... I noticed a few minutes ago." Natasha was sure the poor medic was blushing on the other end of the line, medical professionalism be damned.

"I understand." Sarmit said. "I'll ask him about it. With luck, a chance for didactics will bring out the 'Scholar' in him. See you in a few. The traffic's moving again." She hung up.

After a couple blocks, Natasha asked, "Was that a pun, Sarmit? Are you even capable of puns?"

The psychiatrist grinned. "I always cover my own shock with a mixture of dispassion and humor, Agent Romanoff."

"It wasn't a very good pun though, so I guess you don't get shocked enough," Natasha mused.

"Thank you?"

"Sorry, I seem to cover my shock with sass and sarcasm."

"Ah. Fitting. And, we're here." She turned onto a narrow residential lane and parked in front of the safe house. Bruce nodded to them as they entered, and quickly left. Unlike Tony, neither Bruce nor Clint ever lingered longer than they had to at the safe house. Neither did Natasha, but that was because she already spent so freakin' much time here, depending entirely on how long Dr. Sarmit stayed. Sometimes they spent only a couple hours if Loki was especially untalkative or angry, sometimes they were there all day. On those days, even faithful Heather didn't stick around, though she was strangely content to be available at all hours the rest of the time.

The two women stepped into Loki's room. Surreptitiously, Natasha looked the god up and down. He didn't _look_ that different today, but then, he hadn't seemed particularly feminine before. Perhaps that was because he was still so thin, though. Her gaze came to rest on his face. His eyes were closed. He still had the same nose, same mouth. He had gained new flesh on his high cheekbones in the last couple weeks, yet the angular structure of his face seemed somehow accentuated rather than softened, framed by tousled dark hair that fell well past his shoulders now. He was sitting in his old rocking chair, feet propped up casually atop the heart monitor they had yet to move out of the room. His hands were folded behind his head. He was ignoring them in favor of whatever it was he was listening to on the top quality headphones Tony had come up with. Loki had only started using them in the past few days since the doll broke and Scholar introduced himself. Tony had arranged for Jarvis to play or read aloud whatever acceptable material Loki requested. Otherwise, since they couldn't risk granting him a device that could access the internet in any way, the Avengers would have been hauling crates of books back and forth every day. Loki read really fast when he was bored, much faster than Jarvis could read aloud, even at accelerated speech rates. Today, he was probably listening to Shakespeare plays or opera, based on what Jarvis told them of the god's preferences and the relatively narrow selection available: Loki had declared all of Stark's modern music collection an abominable affront to the ears and was prohibited from "reading" up on anything SHIELD had judged potentially dangerous information. Somewhat to Natasha's surprise, Loki had shown no interest whatsoever in Jarvis' impressive selection of medieval and Northern European literature. She had even asked LOA about it one frustrating afternoon; he had smirked at her, recited the opening stanzas of _Beowulf_ in Old English, and said he had no need to reread simple stories where the exact wording didn't matter, and no need to reread poems where the exact wording did matter but that he already remembered perfectly. Presumably, he had yet to memorize the _Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ and the rest of classic English literature in the years since his "move" to New York from Norway.

"Are you there, Doctor? It's me, Scholar." Natasha cocked her head to the side, watching Loki's Adam's apple bobbing up and down with his words. His voice seemed unchanged, but the voicebox was somehow more noticeable. Scholar opened his eyes, took off the headphones, stretched his arms, and moved his feet to the floor, facing his guests. He planted his feet wide and leaned forward with an air of supreme confidence and couched eagerness. Elbows resting comfortably on his knees, he clasped his hands together with a snap. Natasha further noted increased prominence of the veins of his forearms. Physical differences were there, she decided, but they were pretty subtle.

"Scholar, is it? How fortuitous. Any reason you're here today instead of your compatriots?" Sarmit asked.

"My best guess is Prince's taste in reading material."

"Novels written for middle school girls?"

Natasha didn't get the reference, but Scholar grinned. "That was from years ago, when the book was new, and Hela was visiting us. No, you see, you're old sceop Shakespeare has some rather apt monologues that quite intrigued Prince lately:

'Of comfort, no man speak.

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;

Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth...

Nothing can we call our own but death

And that small model of the barren earth

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings;

How some have been deposed; some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;

Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;

All murder'd: for within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits...'

"I did not go to England much for quite a while after your year 1000, so I can't attest to the accuracy of Shakespeare's Richard, but the play has a certain something... No luck with the Alterego, I trust? It seems I wasn't doing anything to come to SHIELD's attention."

"I'm afraid not," Sarmit answered. "That was from Richard II, wasn't it? And Richard's speech in the play, if I remember correctly. If you had to guess, does Prince particularly identify with Richard rather than the other man, Henry?"

Scholar smiled and shook his head. "The secret, my good doctor, is that our Prince is both Richard Plantagenet and Henry Bolingbrooke, bearing the cares of both the defeated academic and the righteous _avenger_." He winked at Natasha, who couldn't help but grin back, for some reason. Scholar continued, "He is also, I might mention, Bolingbrooke's son Prince Hal in the sequel _Henry IV_ \- we went to Laurence Olivier's stage performance in the city about 75 years ago, you know. Your Shakespeare created a multitude of very different characters, but they all spring from the same mind. And the medium of a play is unique in storytelling: each character is originally only his words and actions. The actor's interpretation is what ultimately creates meaning from the words, a soul unique to each performance. Thus, the words of any character can ring true in some way for virtually anyone. You might think it's funny, but I personally am glad, since I have to listen rather than read, that Jarvis' rendition is so monotonous. It allows me to retain control of the interpretation."

"Interesting perspective," Sarmit said. "Do you have any favorite characters of your own, Scholar?"

Natasha couldn't understand why Sarmit was wasting time with this idle literary conversation. Surely there was a more valuable use for Scholar's presence...?

Scholar seemed to agree with her. He frowned slightly, but replied. "I tend not to choose favorites. I value the most complex characters, I suppose, because of the challenge involved, and there are certainly some that resonate more closely with our experience than others, but that's about it. Why do you ask? I would have thought you had some higher priority questions."

" _You_ are high priority. Artistic interpretation of all varieties can reveal a lot about a person. It's the basis of the Rorschach, after all. There have even been studies regarding the differences in the way convicted criminals for instance interpret _Hamlet._ "

Scholar eyebrows rose, then fell, and his eyes narrowed in sudden thought. "Interesting..." Natasha hoped she didn't have to sit through a tedious discussion of literary analysis the whole day.

Unfortunately, she got her wish. Loki blinked at them, then straightened in his chair, hands finding arm rests, chin lifting, expression trained to neutral but welcoming. Scholar was gone, it appeared. "Forgive me, Lady doctor, Lady Romanoff, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"We were discussing your reading."

"Ah, yes." Prince, Natasha recognized, glanced at the headphones briefly. "The plays. I will be done with them soon..."

"Do you remember what we talked about last time I was here, Loki?"

He nodded stiffly. "Thanos."

"Well... actually no. We spoke again after that, don't you remember?"

Prince stared at her in confusion, then said, "I don't think so, Lady doctor. And I am not _that_ absent minded. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

Natasha bit back a sigh. Sarmit had told them after meeting Scholar that she felt it was time to try to get Loki's personalities to become more aware of each other. So far, success had been limited. LOA had been very interested when they'd told him they had discovered other personalities besides Odinson but was supremely fixated on the fact that Odinson was still the most prominent of the lot. Odinson, for his part, was quite alarmed at the very idea and quickly denied that there was any other besides the Mask. Then he had ignored them the rest of the day, standing before the window over the kitchen sink with his back to them. (That was the only sunlit window left in the house, as it was small, made of reinforced, bullet-proof glass, and faced the back garden; the rest of them had been blocked with steel plate, and blue shutters.) LOA had been even more scathing than usual after that, incongruously spending most of his interviews interrupting Sarmit's descriptions and questions regarding Prince and Scholar to rail against Odinson's unreasonable and pathetic disinterest. As for Prince, he had only emerged a couple times, and only once long enough for them to inform him of the other personalities. He had seemed to understand and accept Sarmit's word at the time. Now, it seemed he had completely forgotten.

"I assure you I wasn't dreaming, but I am not that surprised that you don't remember, Loki. It is okay if you don't. Just think for a moment. I told you about someone called Scholar, and about some others."

Prince's eyes flicked to Natasha. She nodded at him, confirming his unvoiced question. He shifted slightly, brows raised and shoulders half shrugging. He reached a hand to massage his forehead, eyes closing in thought. His fingers traveled down to his chin, and he leaned back in the chair. He opened his eyes and looked at Sarmit. "I don't disbelieve you, Lady doctor. But I do not... will not remember. I do not think I want to."

Dr. Sarmit inclined her head. "I see. Can you tell me anything more about that?"

He shrugged disinterestedly. "It is difficult to explain. I can feel that you are telling me the truth, deja vu, I believe you might call it, but... I feel no inclination to pursue the feeling. I-"

Suddenly, after a sharp _Crack_ from the far corner, Loki leaped to his feet, eyes wide and searching. He glowed green for an instant, and a spark of gold fire snaked blindly off in the direction of the sound, melting the little plastic breathing gizmo Heather had got for him that he refused to use. Loki was out of the room in seconds. Natasha rushed out after him, knocking over her chair in the process. She found him leaning over the sink, pale forehead pressed against the sunny windowpane. He was trembling slightly, and breathing fast and shallow. He still couldn't really breathe that deeply, since he had been on the ventilator and didn't, or all things considered perhaps couldn't, cooperate very well with Heather's treatment plan.

"Loki? Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't run off or attack either, so Natasha decided he was okay for now. She hastened back to the other room to find Dr. Sarmit tending to a rather shaken Heather, who had been sitting in the offending corner of the room, working at the desk. "Any idea what happened?"

It was Heather that answered. "I swatted a beetle." She giggled nervously. "Guess it startled him."

"Huh. Well, that's not good if he's going to start throwing death rays around at the slightest provocation. You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Good. I suggest we refrain from swatting insects in his presence, coughing or sneezing, or stepping loudly, and god forbid anyone drop something in the kitchen. Also stretching: your back cracks." Magic seemed to bring out her sassy side. Oh, well. "Sarmit?"

The two women left Heather to collect herself and strode back to the kitchen. Loki hadn't moved.

"That was just Heather moving around, Loki. No need to fret."

He sagged, resting his hands on the windowsill. "Sorry," he gasped. He looked a little tired and was still breathing quickly.

"What were you thinking?" Sarmit asked.

"Terrible memories."

"...Do you want to-"

"No."

"Alright."

"...She wasn't hit, I guess?"

"No."

He nodded, then straightened up and started rummaging around in cupboards. "Tea, ladies? Or some other warm beverage, since it is now autumn? I'm afraid we can't have mulled wine; Heather doesn't stock the ingredients." He withdrew four mugs.

"Um, tea would be lovely. Thanks, Loki," Natasha said. Except for the first time they met Scholar, Loki had never offered them tea before, let alone made it. Sarmit started to say something, but Loki shushed her, pointing to the kettle on the stove. He gestured for them to sit, then retrieved Heather from the other room and gave her the first steaming mug. Natasha wondered exactly which Loki was so solicitous. Before she could ask, the front lock clicked, the door flew open, and Tony Stark, complete with Iron Man suit, bounded into the room, hands raised and ready to shoot, until he took in the domestic scene before him. To Natasha's eternal relief, Loki was facing the door. She didn't need another little magic flare.

Tony slowly lowered his hands, and his mask retracted. "Morning ladies, Loki... Jarvis said we had a bit of an... incident?"

"You could say that, but we're all fine," Natasha said. "Is everyone else on their way too?"

"No, I was the only one at the tower. So... what happened?"

"I accidentally melted Heather's ridiculous 'incentive spirometer,'" Loki answered lightly. Tony stared at him. And kept staring. He stepped up to the counter top where they all sat.

Natasha ventured, "You did get Bruce's update this morning, didn't you, Tony?"

"I did," he said shortly, still staring.

Ah. Natasha exchanged glances with Sarmit and Heather, and a gleeful smile was spreading across Loki's face.

"Oh, do I sense some... disappointment in you, Mr. Stark? I can always change back later you know." Loki was leaning forward in the chair now, head bent back with a newfound grace. He had taken Tony's armored hand and was gazing up at him through a wealth of eyelashes Natasha had somehow failed to notice until now. Tony stiffened in surprise, seemingly at a loss. Loki smiled wider and traced his fingers along the hand joints of Tony's armor. Tony laughed uncomfortably and said over his shoulder to Natasha, "I think we must be getting too comfortable with Rudolf here, for him to be making _that_ kind of joke." Loki pouted at him. He added a second hand to Tony's and subtly pulled him closer. "A lady never jokes about such things, Man of Iron." His voice was... husky, and earnest. Tony's nervous smile fell, replaced by shock.

Natasha looked at him curiously, at the same time fighting the urge to join Heather, snickering at Tony's predicament. "Loki, you've never... called yourself a 'lady' before." Loki reluctantly looked away from Tony, though he did not release his hand. "Oh, my dear Black Widow, I would think it would have been obvious. You don't really think a _man_ could bear this many children, do you? And take care of them, and..." He... _she_ let go of Tony and stared at her own hands in a mixture of horror and sadness. "Men cannot handle motherhood." Her face fell into her hands, though her eyes were dry.

Well, clearly Loki's gender had absolutely nothing to do with whatever body he/she might be wearing at the time. But this was for Sarmit to deal with. Natasha stood up and escorted a still stunned Tony into the other room. Time for a mini conference about what to do now that Loki had some usable, dangerous magic again.

 **Author's Note: I had struggled more with the last chapter, so got rather a lot done on the following two while it was in the works, so here you go. The next chapter still has some kinks to work out, but I'd guesstimate a release soon after Thanksgiving. And then we'll see. There's some more interesting stuff coming up that's going to be trickier to write.**

 **PS: For those of you who, like Natasha, missed the reference, it's _Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret._**


	11. Darkness and Light

**Although fictional characters such as the Avengers do have a life of their own within the minds of the fans who love them, this does not make them the property of said persons.**

There was a loud _CRASH_ that seemed to come from the kitchen. Clint and Heather rushed back to check on Loki, Clint mentally cursing himself for assuming that the god would be fine alone for any amount of time, despite his good progress physically. They stopped on the threshold of the kitchen. Before they had left to move some disused monitors into the back room just minutes ago, Loki had been resting quietly in his chair in the sick room, having promised to eat the breakfast beside him "shortly." He was now crouching rather ridiculously in the kitchen sink, hunched over a lumpy concoction on the wide, sunlit windowsill that he loved. Warily, the two humans approached. Clint noted flour strewn over the floor, and fragments of the largest ceramic mixing bowl, some thick white dough stuck to the pieces still. Heather suddenly swore and rushed forward to take Loki's arm, staring at his hands. He looked at her in surprise, as if just now noticing her presence. "Help me," the medic ordered.

Clint stepped forward, saw blood, and quickly took Loki's other arm and helped Heather pull him back out of the sink. Loki stood placidly without assistance as Heather grabbed a towel and started cleaning blood and dough from him. To his surprise, Clint's stomach actually clenched as he saw the long, jagged cut traversing Loki's right forearm. He glanced around and found the culprit porcelain shard on the counter. Quickly, Heather clamped the bloody towel over the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. They attempted to walk Loki to the kitchen table, but the god, unspeaking and virtually unmoving, disregarded their efforts. Clint let go and ran off to retrieve gauze and antiseptic, back in seconds. He then took over applying pressure so Heather could dress the cut. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep as he first thought, didn't completely sever any muscles. The bleeding was slowing already. It didn't seem like Loki had actually been trying to kill himself, thank goodness.

Clint could certainly smack the miserable trickster now, though. He really wasn't loving this kind of unpredictability. He glanced around curiously and noticed the misshapen lump on the counter again. It was a large glob of dough, stained a remarkably consistent pink, and shaped into a roughly humanoid form. "What were you doing, Loki?" he asked wonderingly.

Loki half looked at him, but then turned his face to the lump and smiled. He reached out with his whole arm. "My blood... it's my own..." A trickle of green magic flowed from his fingers to create a flickering illusion of a prostrate infant in place of the dough. Clint's grip tightened on his other arm, and Heather paused in her work.

"That doesn't actually work - he can't actually do that, can he?" Heather asked softly.

Loki's arm fell, the illusion flickered out, leaving only a pathetic glob of wasted flour and pain. "No," the god muttered in answer. He sniffed, just once, then jerked away from them. He seized the shard he had used earlier and slammed it into the center of the dough glob, over and over again, casting aside shreds of pink, face hard and angry, saying nothing. Alarmed, Clint and Heather tried and failed to reign him in. He was too strong for them now. Then he laid his already injured right arm on the counter and raised the shard overhead, ready to stab himself again. Both Heather and Clint reached up and grabbed his left wrist, diverting the blow to the counter. The ceramic cracked into smaller, useless pieces. Loki yelled in outrage, and a small pulse of magic like electricity struck Clint's hands numb. Heather let go completely, fingers spasming.

"Loki, stop, please! Tell us what you need!" she shouted.

"What do you think I need, mortal?" he asked scornfully. He ripped free of Clint's clumsy grip and strode out of the room, intentionally knocking a basket of apples off the island as he went. Clint and Heather hurried after him into the sick room. He had sat down on the edge of the bed and was breathing heavily. He wasn't used to exerting himself this much yet. Hesitantly, Heather reached out to finish tying off the bandage on his arm. Loki let her.

Clint came to his senses. "Jarvis?"

"I have already notified Master Stark and Dr. Sarmit, Agent Barton."

"Thank you."

"Of course, sir."

"Are they coming now?"

"They will be here in approximately 10 minutes."

Clint looked over at Loki, who seemed to be calm again, or at worst minimally responsive. Heather would figure out which soon enough. Clint decided he could take some time now to clean up the worst of the kitchen. Sweeping the flour and ceramic shards off the floor was actually kind of soothing. Scooping the remnants of Loki's disgusting blood-baby into a bag for the trash was less so. It certainly didn't take the god long to make a gruesome mess; there were ugly spatters all over the sink, sill, counters, and window. Finally, the front door unlocked, and Dr. Sarmit led the way into the house, followed by Tony, Bruce, and Natasha. The doctor joined Heather at the bedside, while the Avengers held back. Loki seemed uninterested in talking at the moment, so Heather and Sarmit just maneuvered him into the bed properly and tucked him in. He let them, staring straight up at the ceiling and holding his bandaged arm close to his chest. The women joined the Avengers at the entrance to the kitchen, where they could still keep an eye on Loki while they talked. Clint asked the obvious question. "What the heck was that about?"

Dr. Sarmit shrugged one shoulder. "He still wants that baby. It's hard to say exactly what he was thinking, especially without knowing which part of him was doing the thinking." She sighed in frustration. "He isn't getting better, and though it's still early days as these things go, I have a sneaking suspicion that he isn't going to improve much until he can let go of Njalli more completely."

Clint agreed. Loki's moods were amazingly inconsistent. Sometimes, he was perfectly talkative and helpful, sometimes he seemed to literally forget his cares and joke with them, but every time he started thinking about his children, especially Njalli, he shut down again, letting Odinson dominate.

Natasha voiced the next thought for him. "He needs closure. Should we reconsider letting him see the body?"

"You don't think that will push him over the edge?" Tony questioned. Clint wondered what edge Tony thought they had yet to cross; by the look on his face, though, it wasn't an idle question.

Dr. Sarmit pursed her lips, thinking. She looked at Heather, who shrugged and said, "We have to do something. We were lucky today. He gave up quickly, and he wasn't trying to hurt us. His magic is coming back fast, which makes him even more dangerous. If he doesn't stabilize soon, we are going to have to move him to a more secure facility with more hands on deck to keep _us_ safe."

Sarmit nodded reluctantly. "I think we should try it. If we can avoid moving him permanently, I would definitely prefer that. I don't think we will have any problems going over to the tower, but I want all of you available when we visit the morgue, in case he reacts badly. And notify SHIELD to have the cell they have probably already built for him ready too. Best not to take chances."

The Avengers agreed to the op for this afternoon, Loki willing. Fortunately or unfortunately, the current Loki seemed apathetic to the whole matter and came along without ado when the time came. He did smile faintly as he was led outside for the first time in over a month, squinting up into the fall clouds. He looked terribly pale in the outdoor lighting, Clint thought with a momentary pang of pity and guilt. The ride to Stark Tower was uneventful. Loki wasn't talkative, but Clint could see tension mounting, either anxiety or just plain dread at the thought of seeing his son's body. As they walked through the tower, though, Loki's pace picked up, stride becoming more purposeful. He did slow every so often to catch his breath, always staring downwards into the basement levels, where he must know the morgue would be, along with most of Tony's other labs. He actually leaned heavily against the wall as they took the elevator, fingers drumming against the gaudy paneling. It was still so strange to Clint's mind to see this... person... who had been an all-powerful enemy so frail. Although, Clint reflected as he recalled the fiasco this morning, Loki's problem was really endurance, not strength. He was still formidable even now.

Loki started slowing down again as they approached the morgue. He kept stopping and looking around distractedly, down empty hallways. He almost looked as if he were listening for something, and strangely, he didn't seem to be seeking whatever it was in the direction they were walking. They arrived before Clint could figure it out though, and the doors to the morgue slid open. Natasha entered first, blank-faced, walking straight over to the body shelves and opening up the only full one. She had brought a little blanket along and looked to be re-wrapping the body and rearranging the shelf, before motioning for Tony and Sarmit to bring Loki forward. Clint and Bruce took up peripheral positions, and Heather took the far corner for safety. Clint fitted an arrow to the string, just in case. Ever so slowly, Loki edged his way forward. He looked down at his son's body. His face was unreadable, and his arms were hugged about himself. The minutes stretched on in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice quavered. "He is even more beautiful than I had remembered."

It was uncomfortable to watch, standing in this unpleasantly sterile room, Clint's worst enemy staring at a dead and frozen infant, looking utterly at a loss. Loki was crying, again, silently. Of course he was. And his arms had shifted downward, now clasping his belly, covering an invisible wound to his insides little Njalli had left. Clint really wanted to look away and be able to hate the infuriating alien, like always. But that wasn't an option right now.

Loki reached out one hand suddenly, but then hesitated. His fingers grazed the blanket only, then fell to the surface of the shelf. His other hand joined the first on the shelf, folded into a fist, but Loki was now staring at his toes, unable even to look at the little bundle. Then he stepped back slightly, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face as his gaze shifted to the shadow beneath the shelf. He crouched down, fingertips now resting on the lip of the shelf, staring intently into empty space. As the Avengers watched in confusion, the shadow seemed to darken. Clint drew his arrow back and aimed into the knot of blackness forming in front of Loki. The lights in the room grew much dimmer, and the two closest to Loki flickered out. Loki's eyes widened, but not in fear. "Hela?" he half-whispered.

Even as he said it, the shadows coalesced into a kneeling figure. It was a woman, or maybe just a girl, in black robes reminiscent of Thor and Loki's Asgardian regalia. She had dark hair, which hung half over her face, since her head was bowed and shoulders hunched, with hands held close under her chin. She gradually looked up at Loki, who was now beaming at her. Clint could recognize her from the paintings they had seen - it was, indeed Hela. She smiled warmly at Loki, and opened her hands. Dozens of little lights flew from between her fingers, like fireflies that shone as bright as a piece of the sun. Everyone blinked and squinted against the sudden glare, and Clint muttered a curse as he lowered his bow. It was hard to aim when your eyes were bedazzled. The little lights were casting their own bewildering shadows now.

Loki laughed in delight. "Oh, my little ones!" He held out his own hands, and the lights swarmed onto him, zooming around his arms and chest, in and out of his hair. The Avengers watched in astonishment as Loki _greeted_ the lights one by one, offering each a finger one at a time, then bringing it to his smiling face and whispering to it tenderly with words they couldn't really hear. Hela looked on with a ridiculously happy grin, a far cry from the reserved portraits Clint had seen back at Loki's horrible house. Finally, Loki apparently finished saying hello and now started looking around at the lights, searching for something. The flickering lights continued to explore around him, but settled down a bit.

"Here," Hela said softly. She reached up and withdrew one last small glowing ball that had remained hidden in her hair. With her dead hand, Clint noticed with a jolt. He couldn't really see the dead side of her face from his angle, but the hand was definitely the real deal, withered and scarred down to nothing but blackened tendons and white bone. Hela offered the last little light to her father, who took it reverently, eyes wide and wet.

"Hello, darling. Hello, my baby," he murmured tenderly. The ball of light seemed to spasm with joy, glowing even brighter and bouncing on Loki's palm. Loki chuckled softly, the sound choked with tears. "I missed you too, my love." The light ball flew up Loki's arm to whiz around his head. It rubbed against his neck, almost like a cat against a person's legs. Then it bounced and flew around some more, pausing for a moment in the middle of Loki's stomach before floating back up to his hand. Loki smiled down on it, oblivious to all else, from the confused humans, to his dead daughter, to the other lights dancing around him. "Here," he said suddenly, rising up onto his knees, bringing the little light ball with him. Hela edged out from under the shelf and stood on the other side; Clint was sorry she did. Now he could see the rest of her face, a skull with almost no sinew left, and a yellow-red flame in the eye socket. Her hair on that side was thin, coarse, and streaked with gray. Loki brought his hand up next to Njalli's body, eyes level with the bundle. "Here, this was _you_!" Loki continued excitedly. "Just look, you were so perfect. Look at your cute little nose! And your hair! You, my little boy, were born with a truly amazing amount of hair..." The single little ball of light obligingly floated over onto the bundle on the shelf, exploring the corpse enthusiastically. At least, Clint reminded himself with a shake of his head, as enthusiastically as a... shapeless glob of energy... could.

Clint's mouth fell open as he watched Loki cooing over the dead baby and the excited (there was no other word for it) light. Finally, it clicked. These little light things were, somehow, unless the god had just completely snapped, actually Loki's kids. Their souls, or whatever, that Hela, he supposed, had brought over from the land of the dead. However the heck she had gotten here. And the light Loki was now obsessed with was... Njalli. Clint looked around and could tell that the other Avengers had all figured it out too. Tony looked as shocked as Clint felt but was grinning like a madman himself. Bruce, and Dr. Sarmit, looked a little taken aback but very interested, the typical expression of a scientist faced with something new, Clint had found. Natasha and Heather both looked to be on the verge of tears, though Nat still clutched a revolver in steady hands, pointed down at the floor.

"Father?" Clint shuddered. Hela's voice had both the high pitch of a child and a crackly rasp.

Loki stood up the rest of the way and smiled at his daughter. "My girl... I am so happy to see you, and so glad you brought the others. Njalli told you where I was? How long can you sustain the shift?"

"Not long. Minutes perhaps."

"Well then." He stepped out from behind the shelf and held out his arms. All the lights gathered up by his shoulders like a sunny cape. Hela smiled shyly at him and stepped into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Loki held her close and kissed her hair. "My sweet lady." She looked up at him happily, but then frowned. She stepped back, staring at him.

"No. No, no, _no_."

"What's wrong, Hela?" Loki asked. He looked just as confused as Clint felt for a change.

Hela reached out and took his hands. She closed her normal eye for a moment (the other, unnatural orb burned on), and the gloom grew even darker. She opened her eye again, and a mystical flame erupted out of her skin, glowing stark white on her good side and releasing smoky shadows on the other. The opposing flames passed down her arms and hands and onto Loki. They didn't appear to burn; Loki held still, watching with narrowed eyes. The black flame snaked rapidly up his arm to engulf most of his body in a dark umbra, while the white flame seemed trapped at his elbow. Loki stared at it, and sighed. Whatever it meant, it didn't look good. "I know, dearest. It's not your fault."

The flames snuffed out, and Hela hugged her father again. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I should have let you come home the last time. Now, it's too late. I'm so sorry." She sounded ready to cry. The lights - her siblings - zoomed about her head, trying to comfort her.

"Hush. You did what you thought was right. Neither of us could have known this would happen."

"But -"

"No, I won't hear it. Not now."

"Alright."

Clint had no doubt Sarmit for one would be asking all about that exchange later, but no one seemed inclined to interrupt the father-daughter moment just now. Until, that is, there was a crash of thunder and a blaze of blue-white light, and Captain America and Thor appeared in the middle of the room, accompanied for whatever reason by a very big black bird.

* * *

"Oohh... Fffffffffffiddlesticks," Steve blurted, as soon as his eyes cleared and head stopped spinning and he saw that he was staring a startled Loki straight in the eyes. Faintly, he could hear both Tony and Clint snorting in amusement at his words, even as the Iron Man visor slammed down, jets whirring into action. But honestly, Heimdall was supposed to set them down _outside_ the room with Loki and Hela, even outside the building if he wasn't sure of his aim. Steve was still helplessly disoriented and dizzy from the interplanetary teleportation as he watched Loki's face morph from shock to recognition, to fear, to a snarl of rage. His wide eyes locked on the raven Huginn on Thor's shoulder.

" _You!_ " he shouted, raising his hands.

"Get out of here, Thor," Steve slurred, lifting his shield.

Thor leaped for the door, and the other Avengers raced towards them, but not fast enough. With a scream of outrage, Loki swiped at Huginn, fingers trailing gold-green sparks. The bird took to the air with a squawk, forced to dodge to the side even as Thor made it to the door and ducked out. Loki ignored his brother in favor of Odin's representative. A burst of green fire blocked Huginn's swoop for the exit. The bird wheeled about and darted to the far side of the room. Loki tried to go after it, but Tony managed to get a hand on him, holding him in the middle of the morgue. Undeterred, the crazed god let loose some more green flames, somehow darker than before, almost muddy. Fortunately, he seemed too weak still for the magical darts to make it to his target. Huginn apparently took this as a queue to escape, flying once more towards the open door. Loki actually growled and lunged forward, dragging Tony with him despite the Iron suit. Steve grabbed ahold too, but watched in despair as Loki still managed to lift his right arm, hand turning a deep blue as a cluster of sharp ice shards burst out to intercept Huginn. Luckily, he missed again, though these missiles flew perfectly straight and shattered one of the ceiling lights. Huginn made it out sans a couple black feathers.

Unfortunately, Loki was still fighting _them._ Frost was rippling off of him in waves, enough to lock up a couple of joints in Tony's armor. He was shouting at them, but Steve had no idea what he was saying. Maybe Norse obscenities.

Suddenly, the girl, Hela, stepped in front of them and seized her father's head in her hands. Steve leaned back despite himself; he was facing her decayed side. "Stop it, father! You'll just exhaust yourself." Her cracked voice was plaintive, and tears swam in her good eye. A cluster of bright lights floated up to circle her and Loki's heads, for some reason. Steve still wasn't sure what those were, since neither Heimdall, Thor, nor even Odin had remembered seeing them before. Loki stared at her in obvious surprise but settled instantly, reaching out to touch her hair as if he'd utterly forgotten her presence and was now seeing her for the first time. Steve and Tony relaxed their grips slightly.

His hand stopped halfway up, though. He stared at his blue fingers in horror. The cold mist rolling off of him suddenly clamped off. He broke past all three of them in a moment. Before anyone could intervene, he started clawing at his blue skin with his other hand, leaving open excoriations, and ripping loose the new bandage on his forearm while he was at it.

"No!" Hela cried, running to him and grabbing his wrist. "Daddy!" She made a beckoning gesture, and all the shimmering lights swarmed to her, enveloping the blue hand entirely, blocking it from view. Loki stopped still at last, breathing hard and blinking in the light of his dazzling hand. He gave his daughter an affectionate pat and murmured something inaudible to her. She smiled weakly. He waved his right hand, disbursing the lights. Then he turned around and strode straight over to Dr. Sarmit, who was still standing awkwardly by the open body shelf.

He shoved her against the wall, roughly, and waved his maimed, though no longer blue, hand in her face. "What exactly was that, Sarmit? Hmm? _Who_ was that? It certainly wasn't one of the ones you told me about, who were so _nice_ and _civilized_." Loki was inches from the doctor's face, wearing a venomous glare. Natasha, who was closest behind him, stepped forward to pull him back, but quickly stopped as he raised his left hand in warning. Nobody moved. None of the team wanted to get the psychiatrist killed.

Dr. Sarmit, quivering a little in fear, nonetheless spoke with a steady voice as she answered, "As your doctor, Loki of Asgard, I tell you everything I can, _if_ I think it will help. I do not think I have previously met the person we just witnessed, and I have never believed it to be in your best interest as my patient for me to share mere speculation and incomplete information."

Which meant, Steve surmised, that Sarmit probably had a good idea of what had happened, but just didn't want to tell this Loki about it for whatever reason.

Loki reached the same conclusion, apparently. He fumed silently for a couple of heartbeats, then slapped the doctor, hard, with his grisly right hand. Dr. Sarmit fell, banging her head against the handle of another shelf before catching herself. Bruce rushed forward to help her away. Loki made no move to stop him. In fact, as they watched, Loki swayed on his feet, turned his back to the wall, and slowly sat down on the floor. Hela tiptoed to his side and crouched next to him. Loki smiled and wrapped an arm around her, eyelids lowering. "You have to go, don't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Next time, I'll be able to help you stay longer."

"Yes."

"Goodbye, sweetie." He opened his eyes just a crack as all the fluttering lights gathered onto Hela's splayed palms. "Goodbye, all my loves." Hela hugged the lights to her chest, hunched a bit more, then melted into the shadows. The electric lights flickered back on as she left.

No one spoke for a moment, just watched Loki in case he started off again. But he didn't. He looked utterly drained, slumped awkwardly against the wall of body shelves. Heather picked her way over from the far corner where she had been crouching behind a desk. Loki followed her with his eyes. As the medic kneeled at his side and took up his injured arm, Loki commented faintly, "I think I will need some help getting up."

Heather nodded, opened the little first-aid kit she had brought along just in case, and made short work of cleaning up his new and nasty scratches. Surreptitiously, Natasha closed up Njalli's shelf. Loki didn't seem to notice. Bruce supported a slightly unsteady and blood-streaked Dr. Sarmit as they made their way over to Steve.

"Bad timing, Captain," the doctor said.

"Yeah... sorry about that. Are you alright?"

Sarmit nodded distractedly, but winced as she did. "I seem to have a bit of a headache, now. But it's all his blood."

"Ah, good. Um, why don't you and Bruce track down... our other guests. The rest of us can handle Loki for now, I think."

The two left in search of Thor, and probably also a chair and an ice pack. Steve joined Tony, Clint, and Natasha in the huddle around Heather and Loki. "How's he doing?"

"Exhausted," Heather answered curtly, without looking up. Then more gently, "Do you want to try getting up, Loki? ...Let's just sit up a bit, first." Natasha crouched to help, holstering her gun, and they slowly drew their patient into a more upright position on the floor. His head promptly lolled forward as he passed out. "Oh, dear. But that makes things easier for us, at least. Could you carry him, Captain?"

"Of course."

As the group filed out of the room, Clint muttered to Natasha, "So, all in all, how do you think that went?"

She burst out laughing, and Tony answered for her, "Well, let's see... My very expensive equipment in there suffered minimal damage, so that's good. Loki got to say bye to all the kiddos properly, so that's good. On the other hand, it looks like our good friends Steve and Thor managed to wake the Loony of Loonies, so that's not so good. But two out of three ain't bad."

"Loony of Loonies might be an even better name than LOJ, Tony, but I don't think Scholar will go for it," Natasha commented. Heather rolled her eyes at the lot of them.

Steve looked askance at his team. He would get the full debriefing later, he supposed, but right now... "All the kiddos?"

"The lights, in case you were wondering."

"Oh." Now Steve felt even more guilty. He really should have trusted his team to know what they were doing and have it in hand, forced Thor and the other Asgardians to wait to send them back. The fact that he probably couldn't have done that was cold comfort. He looked down at the madman sleeping soundly in his arms and started to feel mightily ticked off at Odin, again. Who were they to disturb Loki's peace? Yes, he was a powerful and unpredictable character that could quite easily bring down wrath and ruin and whatnot, but so was the Hulk. So was Tony, for that matter. So were plenty of people, with and without special powers even. Loki was so light, Steve could easily imagine him as being a child, but he could not for the life of him imagine doing what Odin had done, even with his reasons...

They found Bruce and Sarmit waiting on a settee by the elevators. Realizing Loki was unconscious, Bruce got up and knocked on the nearest closed lab door. It opened a crack, revealing Thor's brilliant blue eyes peeking out at them, plus Huginn's long black beak hovering overhead.

"It's alright for you to come out for now," Heather said, "but I don't think you're going to want to be anywhere nearby when he wakes up." The eyes blinked, but Thor and Huginn did follow them contritely into the elevator. Steve winced at Tony's elevator music, the angry chorus of "Damage I've Done." Thor looked equally put out, but he didn't comment. He did reach up to his shoulder and take Huginn onto his wrist as he picked up Loki's damaged arm.

"Careful, Thor!" Clint hissed. "What are you doing?"

Thor silenced him with an irritated glance. "Fear not, I do not intend to wake him." Steve hadn't realized Thor was capable of speaking that softly. He raised his brother's fingers to his lips and murmured, "A gift from Lady Eir, my brother." Huginn flapped his wings, loosing a single white feather from the black. The feather touched Loki's fingers and released a soft white glow. When Thor touched the feather, the glow spread over Loki's hand and arm, then whole body, and Steve could see the tattered edges of his shallower scratches knitting themselves together. He knew the deeper wounds beneath the bandages were also healed. Thor held Loki's limp hand all the way up to the ground floor.

The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Everyone but Thor and Huginn got out. Thor grimaced after them and said, "Sleep well, Loki. I wish there was more I could do for you now. Farewell. And I'll see the rest of you later when you come back to fill me in." He pushed another button to ascend higher in the tower, probably up to his video monitoring room again, and the doors slid shut.

 **Author's Note: no new chapter for at least 2 weeks - there is busy-work to attend to.**

 **PS: I'm curious as to how many fans of the Marvel Loki have also read up on the mythological one, or are interested in other mythologies. One of my other writing projects is actually a modern novel-esque adaptation of _The Niebelungenlied_ , which is, of course, the story of Sigurd/Sigfried/Sivrit, one of the great epics of the Norse/Germanic tradition. I would probably be pretty content, honestly, to simply have a career rewriting medieval epics for a modern audience, rather than the more prosaic work currently headed my way. It's hard to say what the audience for that would be, though.**


	12. Shedding Sheepskin

***Unnecessary disclaimer filler statement regarding Marvel and Avengers and intellectual property***

"Jarvis, you don't automatically log all searches someplace Tony can instantly peruse them, do you?"

"No, sir, although he can request access if he knows what to ask for."

"I can live with that."

Bruce paused in the hallway outside the study room in Stark's private library. Steve Rogers was the one speaking. Everyone else was already going to bed after the day's drama and long debriefing; even Janice - Dr. Sarmit - was asleep now that Heather was finally satisfied she just had a concussion rather than serious head trauma requiring a trip to the hospital.

"Your query, sir?"

"I want you to search for Thanos in ancient mythologies, texts, prophesies, that sort of thing."

"My pleasure, sir..." After a moment, "the word 'Thanos' is not contained in those reference banks."

"Try potential cognates," Bruce said, despite himself.

Steve jumped at his voice, but Jarvis merely said, "I will, Dr. Banner, and I shall expand the search parameters to include other sources as well."

Having made his presence known, Bruce walked into the room. "Scraping the bottom of the barrel, Steve?"

Steve looked at him guardedly, then shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not," he temporized. "What's a cognate?"

"A cognate in this context is a word from the same original word or root as your word of interest 'Thanos,' Captain Rogers," Jarvis supplied, his British voice illogically making the AI sound mildly condescending to Bruce's American ear. "The results of this expanded search are extensive." A long annotated list filled the screen in front of them, and both Bruce and Steve leaned forward to read.

"Thanatos, Greek god of death, and Greek _thanato-_ meaning 'death' and 'to die' ... Or Thanos short for _Athanasios,_ meaning 'immortal' ... Celtic Isle of Thanet meaning fire or light... _Danos_ meaning 'damage'... _Danu_ meaning 'day'... _Thani_ meaning 'alone'... _Tano, atanos, athani..._ I agree it could be a good idea to search for information on Thanos whatever way we can, but... there are too many options," Bruce said.

"And no big prophesies," Steve murmured, sounding half disappointed, half relieved. Bruce looked at him strangely.

"What were you expecting?"

Steve exhaled. "I don't know. After speaking to Odin... Well, the Norse myths we have here aren't entirely inaccurate, so I was hoping for some clues."

"And you want prophesies in particular for some reason?"

"...No, but I figured they could be interesting if they existed."

The Captain was not a natural liar, Bruce had found, but he dropped the matter. He pulled another chair over and sat down. "What else do we have to go on besides the name? Didn't Loki call him something else once, too? Jarvis?"

"The prisoner has stated that Thanos is also called 'the Mad Titan.' The Titans are also creatures of Greek myth, although Thanatos is not thought to be one of them."

"Still, that's better than nothing. Show us everything you've got on Thanatos."

"...If Thanos does turn out to be the god of death and dying, shouldn't Hela know him pretty well?" Steve pondered after a time.

"Remember not to read too much into all this stuff," Bruce responded without looking up. "Loki's the god of chaos because that's the role he grew to fill, not because he's some linchpin of the fundamental nature of the universe or whatever. Same with Thor being god of thunder. They're just powerful and long-lived beings, not, well, forces of nature. I think. Presumably, Thanos is the same."

"Unless there is some mysterious higher order we don't know about because the Asgardians won't tell us. But you're probably right."

After a couple more minutes of reading in silence, Bruce asked, "Steve, I know you didn't say anything about it during the debriefing, but did you learn anything in Asgard that might help with the Alterego mystery? I'm still completely stonewalled on that front."

"Not really. I didn't know about it when I left, after all. When I asked Heimdall if he knew anything about Loki's visits to Earth in the past, he didn't have anything memorable. I mean, he sees so much, there's just no room for him to remember every little thing. I got a basic timeline of when Loki wasn't in Asgard from Thor, but... Sometimes Heimdall knew Loki was on Earth, like, glimpses of him walking around. Sometimes he had no clue, though it's debatable whether Loki was concealing himself, or he was somewhere else that Heimdall also doesn't remember, or he just wasn't looking. Basically another dead end."

Bruce nodded. "Oh, well. Actually, if Heimdall did at least see him walking around at times, maybe we can at least rule out some bizarre magical options."

"You were considering bizarre magical options?"

"I was desperate. After all, there wasn't anything to say he _hadn't_ transformed into a cloud, or a whale to go swimming with his son, or just phased into another universe or something. For all I know, he might be able to do those things. He doesn't like to let on exactly what he can do."

Steve laughed softly. "Those might still be very good options. You'd have to ask Thor which ones to rule out. What's your leading theory?"

Bruce sighed. "Talking with Dr. Sarmit and the others, I'm still betting that our Alterego is Loki taking a holiday from being himself entirely, just forgetting it all, living like a human for a bit. Knowing him, probably a very talented human at the top of his field, but still just a quiet, contented pretend-mortal."

Steve was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke again, he sounded very sad to Bruce's ear. "Yeah."

The two friends said very little for the next hour of fairly fruitless research before saying goodnight.

* * *

"You should be careful, Anthony Edward Stark, Earth-Man of Iron." Tony turned in surprise. He had thought Loki was still asleep, and indeed, he was still lying in bed with eyes closed.

"Jarvis, notify the others," he said quietly, then walked back into the darkened sickroom. "Loki? Are you alright? What do you mean, I should be careful?"

"I wasn't sure before," the god murmured somnolently, "but I recognized it for what it was at your tower. If I can sense it in this state, there's a chance Thanos will be able to sniff it out if he ever realizes where it might be. He has met it in the past."

"...What are you talking about?"

Loki opened his eyes a bit, light from the hall glinting in them ever so slightly in the shadows. "The golden radiance, young Master Anthony. I can hear it singing to me. It did say it always liked me better than him, so you may be in the clear. But still, you should be careful."

"That's... not helpful."

"So much lovelier than the sullied sapphire I last knew," Loki sighed. A shadow crossed over his face. Tony looked over his shoulder to see Heather silhouetted in the door frame.

"He woke up, but he's pretty loopy, unless he's being intentionally mysterious."

Heather switched on the room lights to the dimmest setting and walked forward. She touched Loki's shoulder and said, "How do you feel?"

Loki waved dismissive fingers.

"Can you tell me your name?" He pushed himself up slightly in the bed and glanced at her with an expression of amusement.

"I would have thought it clear by now that you people have a much better idea of who I am than I do."

"...Fair enough. Do you know where you are?"

"Back in my Midgardian hovel-prison, I presume. How long did I sleep?"

"The rest of the day yesterday, all night, and half the morning. It's 10:30 now."

After a momentary lull, Tony tried again, "What did you mean by 'the golden radiance,' Rudolf?"

Loki yawned, peered at him suspiciously, then smirked. "You don't know what you have, do you?"

"Well, I might if you would use utilitarian language rather than poetic gobbledegook."

"Go get your Captain Rogers, cretin. I want to know what he was doing on Asgard and why he brought Odin's Thought back with him." Tony stared at him perplexedly, ignoring the casual insult. Loki rolled his eyes. "The raven."

"Oh. Well, I've already sent a message off. You're stuck with us for a bit."

"Pity." He reached up to push the hair out of his face, but stopped in distraction when he glimpsed his hands. He pulled up the right sleeve to see unblemished skin.

"It's all healed," Heather said cautiously. "But the spell didn't seem to affect your anemia much. I checked. You're still low."

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. Healed by whom?"

"Uh, Thor said it was a gift from Lady Eir. He did something with a white feather."

"I see."

"...Thor's been really worried about you, you know," Tony ventured.

"Like the owner of a sick dog, I imagine, unwilling to put it down even though it bites."

"Well, that's not how _I'd_ phrase it, but -"

"After all, simply killing the beast would be too easy, and akin to admitting defeat. Much better to keep giving it medicine until the training kicks in and it finally changes its ways."

Neither Tony nor Heather could think of anything to say.

"Thor is an idiot. He should learn to recognize a wild animal when he sees one and set it free or kill it, if it hurts his heart strings so much to see it suffer, rather than try to turn the wolf into a dog."

Tony was sorry the sound was back on the video feed both Thor and Dr. Sarmit were presumably watching right now. Thor was either going to short out the tower or devour Tony's entire supply of poptarts.

"Okay, why don't we set that aside for a moment while you have some breakfast. Everyone else will be here in a bit anyways."

Loki sat up the rest of the way and swung his bare feet out of the bed, looking at the far wall with his back to them. "You should stop wasting your efforts on me, Heather. Especially now that Eir has decided to usurp your duties."

"If you keep sulking at us, you're getting plain granola instead of eggs," the medic said, and left the room.

Loki turned slightly and smiled at her retreating back. "No, I won't," he commented to Tony. "She'd never bring me something she knows I won't eat. It's her curse of consideration as a healer."

"I don't suppose sunny-side-up was what you meant by 'golden radiance,' was it?"

Loki's forehead wrinkled. "Did I say that?"

"A couple minutes ago."

"Huh." Loki stood up and stepped into some slippers, then followed Heather into the kitchen without answering Tony's question. Tony stared at the empty bed for a minute. Something to add to the question list for today. He was going to need coffee, and since neither Heather nor Loki drank it, he would have to make it himself. It would be terrible. Why hadn't he bought an espresso machine for this place yet?

The three of them were sitting at the little breakfast table in the kitchen, the humans watching the god eat a large plate of scrambled eggs with unnerving speed and efficiency, when Rogers led Bruce, Clint, and Natasha into the little house. Dr. Sarmit was taking the next couple days off, since she kept getting nauseated every time she stood up. The team was determined to be more careful from now on and had decided everyone ought to be on hand in case Loki didn't approve of Steve's news, although Tony had just left his suit on standby in the corner as usual, rather than put it on. No need to put Loki any more on edge than necessary.

"I'm guessing by the fact that I awoke here this morning that the Allfather has chosen to grant me reprieve for the time being. Why?" Loki said as soon as he looked up and saw Steve. Cutting right to the chase, then.

"Well, now that he knows the full extent of your situation," the Cap began carefully, "he, um, reconsidered what he did in the past and agreed you should stay in our custody."

Loki looked at him shrewdly. "The _full_ extent of my situation, you say, and he just 'reconsidered' his stance on kin-slaying? He's going to overlook the fact that I stole my children's lives from his greedy clutches? I don't believe it."

Steve shifted in trepidation. Tony was really glad he wasn't the one to go to Asgard and having to report back now. "You do understand that Odin didn't even know about all that until now, don't you?"

Loki's face darkened. "Of course he knew, fool. Why else would he send Thor after me time and time again? He just couldn't prove it."

"He never sent Thor. Thor has told us as well, he never searched for you when you vanished. He didn't think of it."

"Then you are either unfathomably gullible or have witnessed a miracle of Thor lying convincingly."

"Loki, Odin's sorry! He blames himself now, because he didn't understand _you_ before, when he was ordering all those terrible punishments." Loki snorted. "I mean, I think it's weird too, believe me. I was explaining some pretty straight-forward things to the god of wisdom, for crying out loud!"

Loki cracked his knuckles for a moment, studying Steve with distrust in his eyes. He looked around to the other Avengers, geared up and ready to defend against him if necessary, Bruce huddled grimly in the background. All afraid of how he might react today.

"For what it's worth, we were pretty incredulous when the good Captain was telling us yesterday evening, too," Bruce said into the silence.

After a moment, Loki sighed, and said, "If I give your account the benefit of the doubt, then tell me, what is Huginn doing here, if the Allfather has abandoned his claim on me as you say? He is the Allfather's eyes and ears, a creature enabling Odin's instantaneous access to what goes on in your world. Why did you let him come?"

Steve looked down, but Tony chipped in. This was pretty straightforward, after all. "Come on now, Rudolf. Remember yesterday? Remember two years ago? Steve said Odin is willing to let us take charge of you for good, but it just isn't that simple. I hate to say it, but someone has to: if something happens and you go off the deep end, we're going to need help in the damage control department. We don't want to rebuild New York City from scratch just because one of your selves loses control and hits the 'SMITE' button. The bird is observing now to see how likely it is that that will actually happen."

Loki shrank away for a second, but then hardened. "So, you will threaten to return me to Asgard unless I toe the line, is that it? I might have guessed. I'll give you the credit you deserve: it is a good threat. Of course, I escaped once. I can do it again..."

Steve interrupted. "No, we are not threatening you. We know you can't really help what you are, and we are dedicated to doing our best to help you get better. But, frankly, you are way more powerful than we are and could, I imagine, squish us like bugs if you put your mind to it once you're fully recovered. Even if we are all willing to risk our lives taking care of you, we do have a duty to the rest of the planet, you know. So I accepted Asgard's offer of protection _of Earth_ only if and when we need it. If you do, um, go on a rampage? or something, then we'll deal with it and let Odin help us, but we won't ship you off to a torture chamber in Asgard. That's off the table. So stop glaring at me like I've betrayed you."

The god squeezed his eyes shut with a sudden grimace and exhaled slowly before opening them again. He picked up his fork with a slightly trembling hand and toyed absently with the remainder of his eggs. "I am relieved. Thank you. All of you." He didn't look at them. Tony suddenly realized exactly how terrified Loki must have been that they might return him to Asgard.

Natasha leaned in now. "Loki... Thor is back too, remember, and he would really like to see you. Do you think you can?"

"No."

Tony winced at the finality in his voice. Thor was like a big, annoying puppy now, desperate for Loki to acknowledge him and love him again, despite what had happened at their last couple encounters, or perhaps because of that. He found himself asking, "Loki, I totally get why you're mad at Odin, why you lashed out when you saw the bird yesterday, but, I mean, what did Thor do? Is it just a reminder of Odin, or -"

"I've told you people," Loki said coldly, "Thor is the one that always pursued us."

"Like I just said," Steve interrupted calmly, "he didn't chase you. Neither he nor Odin knew. You were really good at hiding."

"...Oh, right." He drew in a shaky breath. He pressed his fingers to his temples and rocked back and forth as he chanted angrily to himself. "A delusion: a dream, a hallucination, a lunacy, a mistake. That _wasn't_ Thor. It was just my _brain_ playing tricks. _Fatal_ little tricks. Now, if only Odin had seen fit to beat _that_ kind of mischief out of me, I would be... so grateful."

"Dr. Sarmit says delusions often spring from a distortion of reality, Loki," Bruce said quietly. "What is it about Thor that makes you think he would have come after you if he, or Odin, _had_ known about your children?"

Loki stilled in his seat and answered immediately in fast, clipped tones, "My brother is Odin's hammer just as much as Mjolnir is his. He follows blindly our father's directives, always believing 'the Allfather is wise and has a reason for what he does.' When I heard thunder knocking at my door where I sheltered that first time with Meira, I thought it was Thor because he was the one who came for me before, when I attempted to flee Asgard with Sigyn and Hela. He told me then that it was better this way, and he meant it. But he was just repeating the Allfather's words by rote: Hela would be better off in Nifelheim, the barren land she was so eminently suited to, and Sigyn was a seductress unworthy of my time who I would soon forget. He hugged me as my wife and daughter were put to death before my eyes, but he did not mourn them at all, because he is such a blithering, naive simpleton! It was the same every time...

"He has 'comforted' me, saying how much Sleipnir obviously enjoys racing against the other horses. How I should be proud of Fenrir's strength, 'you should have seen the chains they needed to hold him! Forged by the dwarves of Nidavellir!' How big Jormungand had grown in the vast oceans of your world. How it was good, at least, that Vali and Narfi would be together with Hela: he cried for all of a week, for them, as did my mother. That was Narfi's official mourning period, and all was immediately forgotten afterwards, as always...

"Thor is not wedded to freedom, as I and all my children have been. He, like any of Odin's servants, willingly submits to the guidance of our traditions and of the Allfather without question, with the possible exception of when he has an idiotic idea for adventure on the brain. He always has. I have always preferred to go my own way, which is, I know, the root of all my problems." Loki's voice was bitter, and he rubbed his neck, still not looking at them. "I know Thor loves me as he can, but that is cold comfort, given all that has transpired. He just won't understand." Loki pursed his lips in thought. "It's partly my fault. Thor... he does not easily distinguish a lingering mood from fleeting feeling. He doesn't realize that just because I can smile realistically now doesn't mean I am happy." He looked around at them. "I am _proud_ of Sleipnir, Hela, Jormungand, and all my children for finding contentment with their lot in life. I know they could have had _so much more_. Thor thinks they are _happy_. I know better."

He glanced at Tony and smiled without mirth as if to say, _Does that answer your question?_ Well, it did. Tony turned his back on the group and strode over to his pot of overly strong coffee. He poured himself a cup and wished it was bourbon. Loki had summarized the insider's view of being depressed So. Well. Or at least, the way Tony often felt. Tony was joking all the time. He flirted with girls, lived like a billionaire playboy should. But there was a reason he drank as much as he did, and it wasn't because he was feeling chipper. It was because even if he stood on the top deck of his own cruiseliner in the hot Caribbean sun, he still saw the dark cave he'd spent weeks in during his kidnapping in Afghanistan, getting closer and closer to dying from the shrapnel in his chest with every painful heartbeat. It had been such a relief to get back home and install the improved arc reactor, stop the metal from shimmying... Iron Man stared out the little kitchen window into the drab patch of grass that was its meager view. Loki had it so much worse than he did, with trauma and in the daddy department, Tony kinda felt guilty to be hung up on his own past. But he couldn't help it. What was that line Loki had quoted to him last week? "Your cares raised up do not take my cares down." Something like that. Tony had no idea what that was even from, and couldn't remember the context from their conversation, but the words certainly rang true and stuck. He slurped some more coffee, and realized his cup was empty again, and that he had completely missed the last few minutes of the conversation behind him. Good thing Loki hadn't chosen those minutes to attack them all. He turned back around and listened.

"What did Hela see, Loki? What did she mean 'it's too late'?" Natasha asked.

The god didn't answer right away but rather stared at his hands resting in the sunny space on the table for a bit. Then, "the last time I saw Hela was almost forty years ago, when Kjartan... passed into her care. I told her then that I wanted to go to Nifelheim and stay with her, with all of them. I just wanted it all to be over. We had talked about it before. I am so... tired. Of all of this. I'm even more tired now than I was then. But she said no. She always said no. My darling girl, she still believed I could turn things around here. She said I needed to figure out how to live properly again before I could die a good death and join her. She has been admitted into the deepest secrets of Death, so she is probably right in that. It hasn't worked out that way, obviously."

He looked up at them with a guarded expression. "Do you remember what I told you about my fall from the Bifrost?" Wordlessly, Natasha nodded for them all. "The power of the Void kept me from dying, despite physical trauma and, shall we say, utter deprivation of physiological need. The connection is still there. I can't get rid of it. That's what Hela saw, same as you did, the darkness. It's too late for her to welcome me to Nifelheim, because I will never be able to go there now without the pain and sickness all living things feel there. I am too firmly anchored elsewhere."

They all just sat there for a moment in various states of confusion. "So... you're saying you can't die?" Tony asked skeptically.

Loki nodded.

"Really?"

He nodded again.

"So all that effort we went to to save you and nurse you back to health the last month or so was wasted resources and we shouldn't have worried?"

Loki smiled thinly. "Not as such. Though it may be difficult, this body can still be destroyed or otherwise cease its functioning." He sneered slightly and glanced at Steve. "My _father_ could have executed me as planned if you hadn't so _expertly_ negotiated for clemency." Apparently that was going to be a sticking point for LOA this week, Tony mused as Steve buried a sigh. At least, Tony guessed they were talking to LOA right now. It was hard to tell, sometimes.

Loki continued, "If that had happened, though, my consciousness would not be free to descend to Nifelheim, but would presumably be drawn back into the Void for good. The tie is to my magic and mind, not substance. While I live, though, the 'native connection' to my body is stronger, you might say." He straightened up thoughtfully, lingering disdain smoothing away in a blink. "Actually, if I had simply stayed comatose, I might have just stayed in an eternal oblivion. That wouldn't be so bad. It would probably be an improvement."

"Or you might have had bad dreams forever. We don't really know what goes on in coma patients' heads," Heather commented.

Loki shuddered and hunched into himself, yearning back towards his little patch of sun. Quietly, he said, "I'm glad you people found me when you did. I don't think I would have 'survived' bleeding out completely down here in any meaningful way. I would have been utterly lost to the screaming dark by now, and neither Asgard nor you would know a thing about it until some neighbor called the police to investigate the stench at my house, where no doubt I and Njalli would have been declared the latest pitiable victims of presumed gruesome serial murderer and rapist Lukas Goodman." It took a moment for Tony to recall that "Lukas Goodman" was the false name Loki's house of horror had been deeded to. Also, eek.

After a moment, Clint said, "Not to be insensitive, but you're seriously sitting there annoyed that you can't commit suicide and are now required to be truly immortal?"

Loki glared at him. "Yes, human. I would rather not be sundered from my family for all eternity. I have already lived quite long enough. You're about thirty years now, yes? You can tell me off when you have lived those years a hundred times more and lost as much as I have." Tony did a quick calculation - Loki was 3,000? Give or take, probably.

Natasha looked ready to intervene, but Clint persisted, "But, I mean, your daughter is Queen of the Dead, isn't she? Can't Hela make an exception in the pain department and let you in, even if this magic thing makes you technically still alive?"

"You shouldn't speak of what you do not understand. My Hela is queen, yes, but she did not make the rules. If she could, poor Sigyn, her mother, would doubtless sit at her right hand, rather than linger where she was originally condemned in the vast plains among the blind and mute multitudes of the faceless dead. Nifelheim was not always Helheim; she was not always its queen and mistress to its secrets. She and I battled the previous king, Hades by name, to win her throne. I was sickly for years afterwards for staying in that realm so long, but it was worth it to give Hela something of what she so richly deserved." Ooh, Hades? Tony had been a fan of Greek mythology as a kid.

"...Ok, but -"

"Enough!" Loki shouted in rage. "You are a small-minded child, Agent Barton, which is why it was so easy for me to control you before. Do not speak to me unless you have something sensible to say." Tony winced. The LOA character seemed to take special pleasure needling and putting down Hawkeye."

Clint stood up, glaring daggers at the Trickster. "Fine. I'll leave. I don't have to sit here and listen to you patronize us like the unpleasant, ungrateful, entitled godling you are."

"No, you are free to go on your merry way. I'm the only one that's obligated to stay here and listen to people interrogate me all day."

"If it's such a bother, why haven't you escaped yet?"

Suddenly, the fight drained out of the god. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on his hand, eyes on the wood. "Where else should I go?" he said softly, without emotion. "There's no one waiting for me. There's nothing I particularly want to do elsewhere. There's no reason to deny you your answers. There's just no point."

Tony looked back over at Clint, now standing in the kitchen door, looking significantly chagrined, though still angry.

Moodily, Loki sat back, reached for the salt, poured rather a lot onto the table, and started drawing ornate geometric patterns in it. He failed to answer when Bruce and Natasha tried to question him some more about Hela's visit, or what he thought about Steve's news, or music, or books, or lunch, or the weather. He ignored Tony when he asked about the ridiculous "golden radiance" again. When the others gave up and left, Tony and Heather poured out the rest of the salt and half-heartedly joined Loki in his silent, joyless play, while Bruce adjourned to the back room. The Avengers had decided yesterday they would need two guards on duty when he was awake at least. Tony glanced at the sad man across the table, absorbed in his art. Maybe he would be willing to talk later, and they could try again.

 **Author's note: the quote Tony mis-remembered is another from Richard II, when Richard is abdicating his crown to his cousin, and explaining why he is "content" to abdicate, but still miserable:**

 **"HENRY BOLINGBROKE:**

 **I thought you had been willing to resign.**

 **KING RICHARD II:**

 **My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:**

 **You may my glories and my state depose,**

 **But not my griefs; still am I king of those.**

 **HENRY BOLINGBROKE:**

 **Part of your cares you give me with your crown.**

 **KING RICHARD II:**

 **Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.**

 **My care is loss of care, by old care done;**

 **Your care is gain of care, by new care won:**

 **The cares I give I have, though given away;**

 **They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay."**

 **Of course, Richard also knows that with the usurpation, he's probably going to be dead soon one way or another, and he does not hesitate to rub his cousin Henry's nose in the fact that stealing the crown is tantamount to murdering him, whether he means to or not. There's really a startling number of parallels between that play and the way this story is going. I'd recommend seeing it, even if you're not usually one for Shakespeare-the 2012 Hollow Crown version with Ben Whishaw is very watchable.**

 **Next chapter will be a short one, but to longer, exciting ones are pending after that.**


	13. Blitzkrieg?

**Bleep, beep, whistle, Avengers, beep-meep, copyright, whistle, screech, _whooo_ , Marvel.**

 **Have you ever read the _Shakespeare Star Wars_? R2D2 has lines written out in beeps and whistles, but also lengthy internal monologues describing his secret motivations. It's amusing. Also, "Nay, I am thy father, Luke." "NAY!"**

"If you want my opinion," Dr. Sarmit said from the couch once everybody (except Natasha and Heather) were gathered back at the Tower for the evening to discuss Loki while he slept, "Loki was absolutely spot-on this morning." Everyone looked at her, waiting for an explanation. She was lying in the dark with a cold washcloth over her eyes, as she had been most of the day, merely listening for Loki's conversations over the surveillance system, counting on Thor to alert her if anything interesting happened. "I guess it was before you all arrived, but Tony and Thor heard it. Loki somewhat sarcastically described himself in terms of a caged wild animal, a wolf." Thor started snuffling, again, in the chair next to her couch, and she reached out blindly to pat his back. "I think he really was, in his own way, telling us exactly how he felt, and believe it or not, I think we should see this as progress. He says himself that he is a wolf that will bite: he was so rebarbative today because he was afraid we would be sending him to Asgard, even though his logical side already realized that wasn't the case. It's a defense mechanism - LOA, his affect, well, everything that goes with his dissociation, is a defense mechanism. We need to be careful and nurture his feelings of security.

"Yesterday, our goal was to help him let go of his stillborn. It will certainly take longer still for him to move on entirely, but his predominant thought today was clearly governed by the return of our representatives from Asgard. You see? He is thinking about his _future_ , not his past, even if the content is still bleak. Before, his only interest in his Asgardian family was for his delusions of what might happen to Njalli, and simple desire for retribution, no matter what happened to him in the meantime. And LOA is fighting for insight, now. After what we saw today, I am hopeful we won't be seeing any more self-destructive tendencies, or at least not right away. Now, his temporal focus will undoubtedly vacillate for the foreseeable future, but this is nevertheless a step forward. Things could have gone a lot worse after yesterday, all things considered."

Thor turned to her, "Do you really think so, Doctor, even though my brother refused to talk the entire afternoon and went back to bed so early?" He was wearing a ridiculous expression part hope, part fear, and part admiration, almost as if he understood what the psychiatrist had said. Steve hadn't entirely, but he'd been around Bruce long enough to recognize that _that_ much jargon coming from a scientist in a good mood was probably a good thing.

"Well, yes. You haven't been watching him as closely as we have lately, Thor. It isn't out of character for him to clam up all day once Odinson takes control, and oftentimes, Odinson will either cry inconsolably or be completely catatonic even though he's awake. Silence while _doing_ something is definitely an improvement in his condition. I actually haven't seen that before from him, since I don't count listening to music. And I think we can cut him some slack for sleeping so much - he was exhausted yesterday. He's still healing."

"Do we know that was Odinson?" Bruce asked thoughtfully.

"Honestly, there's no way to be absolutely sure, but I'd be willing to bet on it."

"So what's the game plan going forward?" Steve asked of the room.

They thought for a moment, but before anyone could answer, the Huginn bird fluttered into the center of the floor and suddenly sprouted an alarming light show out of its back. Tony spilled his gin and tonic and fell out of his chair. Bruce leapt out of his chair with a startled growl, which made the blood drain from his face as he hurriedly moved away from everyone else in case the Other Guy showed up. Clint automatically grabbed his bow again, drew an arrow, and shot at the center of the light, while Steve took up a defensive position, wishing he hadn't left his shield in the kitchen; Clint's arrow sailed straight through the light and embedded itself in the wall. Thor merely gazed at the apparition in puzzlement, but his eyes widened as it resolved into a magical hologram of his father, the King of Asgard. The prince left his chair and knelt, head bowed. "My king." Slowly, Dr. Sarmit reached up and pulled the cloth from her eyes, turning her head to squint painfully at the arcane visitor.

"Thor. Avengers of Midgard. And, you, my lady?" he asked, staring at Sarmit.

"Your son's psychiatrist."

"Of course. As I assumed." Greetings done, Odin turned to Thor. "My son, you must return to Asgard. Now."

"Has something happened?" Thor grabbed his hammer and rose to his feet.

Odin smiled grimly, the magical aura coruscating around the hologram momentarily. "Not yet, but soon. Heimdall has located Thanos in the depths of the Dead Realms. And his army. We have the enemy in sight: now is the time for war. I need you to assist in the preparations and lead the attack. We shall avenge your brother. Proceed to a more open area so that Heimdall may bring you back without risking damage to your friend's property, again."

Steve coughed gently, then louder so as to make himself heard over Tony's choking fit. "Excuse me, your majesty, but you're just going to attack? It's less than a week since you even found out about Thanos and Loki!"

The Allfather's eye flicked in Steve's direction, with a Loki-esque amusement. "Indeed, and we will be ready to fight in another week. Though we are long-lived, the Aesir are a warrior people, and always eager for quick vengeance." His expression turned somber, though an angry fire still burned in his singular eye. "What Asgard began by accident, Thanos has completed by intent. I may have broken my son's mind, but it is Thanos that broke his control, something I would never have thought possible with Loki's incredible innate precision of thought. It is utterly unforgivable, and I shall enjoy meting out Thanos' much-deserved end. I only fear he will die too quickly." Odin smiled again, toothily, and gestured around the room. "You of anyone should understand, _Avengers_. Come Thor." The hologram dissipated into silver smoke, and Huginn immediately hopped about and took flight for the door.

Thor looked around at his friends a little awkwardly, until Dr. Sarmit reached up, squeezed his hand momentarily, then replaced the cloth over her eyes. "We'll take care of Loki, Thor. You'd better do as your father asks, though we'd certainly appreciate periodic updates from your end."

Thor nodded solemnly and made his way slowly for the door. "Be careful," Clint grunted.

"Yes," Bruce said, "take care of yourself."

Tony and Steve intercepted the thunder god at the threshold. Tony fidgeted, then slapped Thor's shoulder and muttered, "See ya, big guy. Hammer some Chitauri flat for me." Thor's cheek twitched.

Steve grasped the thunderer's arm silently. He was worried, and he had a horrible, unshakeable feeling that if he knew more about Thanos, he ought to be more worried. Thor and the Aesir might be nigh-indestructible aliens, but so it seemed was their enemy. So he just squeezed Thor's arm, as if to shove his own mortal strength into the god. Thor smiled, squeezed back, and clapped him on the back. "Soon, I will return and present Thanos' head to my brother myself; then, he will see I have atoned. Tell him for me, Friend Steve," Thor said with resolution, before letting go and striding out of the room, out of the tower, out of the cocoon of his brother's sickness, out of this very world, into war.

 **Author's Note: so, two longer, hopefully exciting chapters are in the offing, and are in fact written, so they will be up as soon as minor edits are complete. Since I also have plenteous actual work to do in the next few days as well, it might still be a bit.**

 **Also, after writing that silly thing at the top of this, I'm starting to think I may be giving you guys an overblown impression of my love of Shakespeare. Yes, I adore the plays, but I adore plenty of things. My personal paragon of authorial adoration is actually Jennifer Fallon, because she wrote _The Wolfblade Trilogy_ and _The Second Sons Trilogy_ , both of which are in some ways peerless, at least in my fancy.**


	14. No More Mister Nice Guy

**Marvel, Avengers**

 **Our approbation is not**

 **Appropriation**

Loki accosted Steve as soon as he had checked in with Clint at the house and walked into the room where the god was sitting and pretending to eat breakfast, at almost two o'clock in the afternoon. "On further reflection, clever Captain, I think there must be something you are not telling me. You said yesterday that Odin has seen the error in his ways and is _sorry_ for my various punishments, that he just 'didn't understand' before. I think you know something I don't about why he was so vicious to me in the first place. It sounds to me like he was actually being methodical, and that what you have done is pointed out the error in his method. So, if there was method behind the madness, tell me, what was the motivation behind the method?"

Oh, great. This was not what Steve had come to talk about. "Would you like to hear the news first, Loki, before you start interrogating me?" Steve attempted a grin, but the Trickster god was not to be so easily distracted.

Loki barred his teeth. "No, I would not, because you will tell me your news, whatever it is, no matter what I say first, if it is so important to bring you to me now and disrupt the appointed schedule. I overheard yesterday that Dr. Banner would be joining us this day, not you, so either something has happened to him, or all of you decided that the Team Captain should deliver your ever-so-weighty news. Either way, it will keep long enough to sate my curiosity, with your cooperation. Now, answer the question, Captain." He smirked slightly and leaned back in his chair. Leave it to Loki to take Steve's carrot and turn it into a stick to beat him with. He had little doubt that Loki would, if Steve kept dodging the question and tried to change the subject to Odin's unexpected visit, be perfectly willing to stick his fingers in his years and hum very loudly until Steve agreed to talk, just to spite him.

"Or Bruce just had something else he wanted to do and we decided to switch shifts."

"Ah, but I believe you have _tidings._ I get my answers first, then you may do as you like."

"Would you believe me if I told you his motivation was simply to ward you away from damaging mischief?"

"Of course not."

"Why not?"

"Because Thor caused just as much trouble as I did growing up, though of a more brutish nature you might say, and was never punished nearly so harshly."

 _"_ Well, if he _had_ done the sorts of things you did, would Odin have done the same?"

"Inapplicable. Thor wouldn't have been in the situation in the first place."

"But if he _had_?"

Loki glared at him and rolled his eyes. "If Thor had for some unimaginable reason married a foreigner without the Allfather's consent, and Odin subsequently discovered she was of giant descent and ordered her execution, Thor would have obediently chopped off her head, weeping all the while. But he would be over it soon enough."

Really? That didn't sound quite like the Thor Steve thought he knew, but he had been surprised before.

"I hope you are not trying to tell me that Odin was hoping to instill me with a stronger sense of duty to Asgard with all this," Loki commented scathingly. "If you are, I shall be very disappointed in you, and I still won't believe that such is the truth."

Steve smiled despite himself. "That wasn't what I was trying to say, though I might have if I'd thought of it sooner. The truth is, I really am just dodging the question. I don't know that it would be good for you for me to tell."

Loki's face hardened. "I do not appreciate being kept in the dark 'for my own good.' Ask the psychiatrist." His expression darkened. "Ask the Allfather."

"You gave Dr. Sarmit a concussion, you know."

"I'm not surprised. I hope she gets well quickly. But I would do the same again."

Steve sighed. Dr. Sarmit had suggested they not argue too much with Loki on that particular subject until she had a chance to talk to him about it, but it was so tempting. "Look," he said, "I admit that Odin did have a reason. You're right. I can even follow his logic, even though I totally disagree his actions. After our talk, Odin realized where he went wrong - just think for a moment again if Thor was in your place, or any natural-born Asgardian. Odin presumably would never have escalated his punishments, because it would have worked the first time to get you to toe the line." Loki raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. Steve chose to take this as encouragement. "Odin didn't realize the lasting hurt he was doing to you and all your relationships in Asgard, just the temporary pain he knew you were strong enough to withstand. He's sorry for all of it now."

Loki's fists clenched and he stood up. "But _why_ , Captain of America? You're still dodging the question with all your pretty words."

Steve held his ground. "I'm not going to tell you. Believe me, you don't need to know. Just please understand that your family still love you and want to make amends."

"I suppose I can understand if you are afraid to give away potentially damning information to me: I am your enemy, after all." He just got louder when Steve tried to interrupt and contest that claim. "But, from what you have said and from your manner, I would guess that what you are hiding _you_ think goes some way to redeem Odin. You'll pardon me if I don't take your word for it that Odin was motivated by anything other than hate; I do not trust that you are not an idiot. So, just tell me, so I can make my own judgment. I shall be open-minded. If the Allfather gave you even a poor reason for his tormenting me, I promise I will concede that you are telling the truth, that he has honestly 'seen the light' and pardoned me. Just tell me."

"I can't." He had given his word, and it was too risky.

Loki snorted. "Fine." Without warning, the god reached up and grabbed Steve's face with a hand like steel. Steve tried to back up, tried to fend off Loki's grip, but then his muscles and the vise across his cheekbones melted like butter as warm tendrils of green light slithered into his skull. Steve felt was floating in an enormous bowl of soup, comfort pressing in from all sides. He heard a voice calling him and sank through the bottom of the bowl into an azure field of stars. He reached down and cupped liquid starlight into his hands, letting the sweet-smelling fluid wash over his fingers like quicksilver. He heard the voice again, turned, and fell forwards into a pool of candle-lit treacle. His whole world had turned soft and gooey. A sad, green-eyed waitress pushed a mug of cocoa into his hands and murmured wistfully, "what could make a father do such a thing to his own son?" Steve pulled the girl into a hug and rested his cheek against her dark hair. Ragnarok, fear of patricide and genocide, those were the answers she sought, but Steve could never voice such things aloud to an innocent. He hugged her tighter. Both their heads were so... fuzzy.

"But... those are just foolish Midgardian fantasies."

Steve opened his eyes blearily to find himself slumped at Loki's feet with a head like a punctured puffer fish. Next to several snapped arrows, he noted. He cast about and found Agent Barton next to him, half-choking and struggling fruitlessly against Loki's other hand, which gripped him by the back of the neck. Clint still awkwardly held the remains of his knife in one hand.

"They aren't even _believable_ fantasies," Loki continued, sounding rather hurt. "For goodness' sake, one of them has me sailing an army to Valhalla in a ship built of human fingernails! It's just dumb. And also disgusting." He let go of Clint, who fell flat on the floor, gasping, and instead reached for Steve with both hands, pulling him back up to his knees. Steve's head spun, and he couldn't seem to get his muscles to hold him up properly. "Why would Odin credit such ridiculous gossip, Captain Rogers?"

Steve felt like he might vomit. Loki sighed at him. "Yes, yes. Don't worry, you'll be fine in a moment, no lasting damage. I couldn't even see that much. Just answer the question." He snapped his fingers in front of Steve's nose, but Steve didn't find that very helpful. At least, he thought sluggishly, Loki didn't actually find out about Frigga, it seemed.

Finally, he found the coordination to shrug, and slurred, "He's King of Asgard. Couldn't risk it."

Loki looked away. "Maybe..." A single, breathy sound, half laugh and half sob escaped him. "That's why I never wanted to be king until I had no other options left."

Wordlessly, Loki stood them up and guided Steve into his abandoned chair to recover himself. Then he helped Clint turn onto his back and inspected his neck expertly. "Sorry about that, Agent Barton, but you were shooting arrows and then trying to stab me. It wasn't personal. No lasting harm, though." He gathered up Clint's broken weapons into one pile. "I can probably fix those for you later." He made his way to a seat on the edge of the bed, and studied Steve. "Why did you want to hide that from me, Captain?"

Slowly, without answering or even looking at Loki, Steve rose to his feet, testing his balance for a moment before making his way over to Clint, who shook his head and rolled to a standing position, then stalked to the kitchen to wait for the others who were surely on their way now.

"I'm waiting."

Steve glared at him, angry at the smug look on his face. "So am I!" he shouted. How dare Loki attack them?

Loki looked confused for a moment. "...I already apologized to Agent Barton," he said.

"Yes, you did, but don't think he'll forgive you that easily for nearly strangling him, and that's not what I was talking about!"

Loki thought for a moment while Steve tapped his foot and continued to glare at him. "Sorry for looking into your mind?"

"That's the one. But you don't sound like you mean it."

Loki shrugged. "I don't." He looked up at Steve pointedly. "If you hadn't noticed, Captain Rogers, I am not a nice man. Agent Barton seems to be the only one of you people that realizes this. You were hiding something from me that I wanted to find, so I took what I needed. I could have done much worse and gotten more detail, but I didn't want to break your mind. I do not feel sorry, but I can certainly pretend to be, if that would make your dull, mortal soul feel better. I can be very convincing."

Steve threw up his hands and looked at the ceiling for a second. "'No lasting damage, no lasting harm,' you say. You just 'took what you needed.' Do you hear yourself, Loki? And after what we were just talking about... You're more like your Asgardian family than you want to admit." Loki looked stricken, and hugely offended. Steve shook his head. "I don't need you to lie to me, Loki. But I think you're wrong. You can be nice when you want to, and I don't think it's always a trick. Maybe I'm talking to one of your testier selves right now, -" Loki looked down - "but you aren't all bad, or you wouldn't have been so torn up over Njalli."

"I'm sorry," the god said in a very small voice, hunching down into his cushions.

"You should be." Loki cringed, and Steve sighed, already feeling bad for his outburst. "But it's alright. Just don't do it again. We're here to help you. Don't attack us."

A tiny, hopeless smile. "I'll do my best."

The front lock _snicked_ , and neither said anything as the rest of the Avengers, all suited up except for wary-eyed Dr. Banner, traipsed into the building. Since it was obvious Loki was no longer a threat, the team merely spread out along the wall by the door, standing impassively. "All clear, Steve?" Tony asked, as Clint wandered back over to lurk in the hall.

"For now. But if you guys don't mind hanging out for a bit, I haven't actually gotten around to breaking the news yet."

Loki resumed a semi-regal poise, his face betraying no hint of the emotions from a couple minutes ago. "I guess I was over-hasty this morning, my good Captain. What terrible news do you bring that you need reinforcements?"

"It's not bad news. Until you attacked us over nothing, I didn't think I needed back up. I just don't want to regret sending them away, since they're all here."

"Touche."

Steve bristled slightly, still annoyed with the Trickster. He was supremely tempted to make him wait, tell him later, but that seemed petty. "The reason I came over this morning is because Thor asked me to. He and Huginn were recalled to Asgard last night, because based on the debriefing Thor and I got when we first got back, all the horrible details of what Thanos did to you, Odin has decided to go to war against Thanos."

Loki blanched and rocketed out of his chair, grabbing Steve's arms. "Tell me you're joking," he said with a malevolent hiss. The god stared the startled Captain down with the unblinking furor of a corpse. Steve could hear his friends readying weapons behind him.

"No..."

Loki let him go and closed his eyes. "This is disastrous," he whispered to himself as his arms snaked their way around his chest.

Steve looked at him in concern. "But... Isn't it good that Odin wants to fight on your behalf? And Thor?"

Loki opened his eyes again and laughed hysterically. "Not if they all end up _dead_ , fool!" He stomped into the kitchen, all the Avengers trailing behind him nervously. He stopped at the window for a split second before shaking his head and turning around. He paced back to the sickroom, ignoring the humans stepping hastily out of his way. "I have to warn them," he muttered.

Tony spoke up, "I don't know what you're on about, Reindeer Games, but we _can't_ warn them. We don't have a way to contact Asgard without Thor."

"Then that was rather foolish of you." Loki sank to the floor in the corner of the room and pushed back his hair with shaking hands. "There must be a way, but I am too weak," he murmured to his knees. "They'll die if they attack him now. Even Odin cannot know what he is facing. Heimdall wouldn't be able to see..."

Natasha cautiously went to him and crouched by his side. "Loki, tell us what's the matter, and we'll do our best to help. There's nothing you can do right now, so let us help you."

He looked at her scornfully. "Exactly what do you think _you_ can accomplish? Write a message to the gods in the sand and hope Heimdall reads it?" He stood up and started pacing again, Natasha at his heels, trying in vain to calm him down. Steve tensed and raised his shield. He heard Tony's mask slam down and saw Clint draw one of his experimental tranquilizer arrows out of the corner of his eye; there was no guarantee those would actually work on Loki, unfortunately.

"I have to warn them." He kept wringing his hands, now blotchy and white-knuckled. "I _must_ warn - ." Loki stopped pacing suddenly and stared intently up at a blank piece of the wall. "And I can."

He closed his eyes, and a green aura erupted out of him, far stronger than they had seen since Loki had first awoken. A tempest stirred his hair and sent his pajama bottoms flapping. Steve grabbed Natasha away from Loki and ducked with her behind his shield. He prayed the others could fend for themselves against whatever Loki was doing. Black rays of tainted magic burst through the green shell around the shuddering god. The room filled with a distant sound like the screeches of a hundred abandoned hearing-aids (Steve volunteered at an old folk's home on occasion). There was a blinding blue-white flash accompanied by a yawning roar too low to hear well with the ears, but that Steve could feel in his bones. Then there was nothing. Steve peeked over the edge of his shield as his vision returned to normal. Loki was gone, leaving no trace beyond a charred hole in the carpet.

"Well, crap," Tony said from behind them. "Now what?"

 **Author's Note: Cliff Hanger: hanging from a cliff. And that's why he's called Cliff Hanger. (Between the Lions; old educational children's television is the best).**

 **Do you want to know the words to describe how tempted am I to just leave you hanging there for a significant length of time, such as after New Year (in which case, Merry Christmas... Mwahahaha!), even though the next chapter is extant? The words are very, quite, extremely, extravagantly, enormously, acutely, excessively, inordinately, hugely, exorbitantly, surpassingly, terrifically, terribly, awfully, cruelly, totally, intensely, prohibitively, immoderately, remarkably, mortally, and inhumanly. Tempted to the nth degree.**

 **Enough begging might help me resist temptation.**

 **Fortunately for you, I also have a significant urge to share the next bit earlier rather than later. But I am going to check it over a few more times still. And do the busy-work that I delayed in order to give you all this chapter.**

 **PS: I had the song "No More Mister Nice Guy" from _The Swan Princess_ stuck in my head today, for unrelated reasons. It's kind of annoying.**


	15. Beautiful Mind

**_It isn't mine_. What is not thine? _My marvelous, avenging muse_. And yet, the work is thine: who owned Ozymandias? The makers or the king they made it for? **

**_Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair._**

Like a fire devouring paper from beneath, a jagged black hole in reality burned into existence in the middle of Asgard's throne room, before Odin and his gathered generals. Points of blue-white sparked from the center of the abyss, then a brief flash gold brighter than the morning sunlight filtering in from the clerestory, and finally whirling strands of green as the bizarre magical portal collapsed in on itself, revealing, beyond all belief, the king's wayward son Loki. The boy looked terrible, face wan, hair long and uncombed, thin Midgardian garments flapping about his lanky limbs. Always lean, he now looked near-skeletal. Worse, wavering smears of the same dark magic that had transported him here clung to his visible skin like caked blood. The arcane residue was slowly vanishing before their eyes, but it left Loki's skin red and raw where it had touched. Almost unseeing, the boy staggered in the general direction of the throne; the Allfather's stunned guards made no move yet to intervene. Loki collapsed as he reached the steps, but he gathered himself one last time and said in a broken voice, "Don't go... Thanos... You can't... win... Father." He slumped unconscious to the floor as the queen and his brother Thor rushed down to his side.

Odin stood, keeping his face carefully blank. "The meeting is adjourned. We will recommence shortly." With that, he strode down from his throne, gathered Loki into his arms and made to leave. "Summon the Lady Eir to the royal quarters," he said to no one in particular.

* * *

It awoke to a high-vaulted ceiling, a gentle ochre in color. The color looked like that of Its mother's chambers, long ago. It could hear voices within the room, and recognized those of Its parents, and Thor, and possibly the Asgardian healer Lady Eir. It must be dreaming again, or perhaps this was another cruel trick of the Dark. But It couldn't be fooled now. It had been here too long. It knew that Its family and all the Aesir, all of Asgard, were dead and gone, lain down to final and untroubled sleep and crumbled to dust, hundreds of millennia ago. It knew because all the stars had gone out; there was nothing left but It and the Dark and the deceitful silence that could make Its ears bleed from the intensity, if only the scarred chaff of Its accursed, life-bound _draugr_ body had blood left to give. It would not be tricked into wasting thought on an empty illusion that would never hear, nor see, nor touch back. It shut out the mirage of false comfort and retreated back into the oblivion It always craved but somehow never gained entire.

 _\- So we are in fact on Asgard._

Loki curled into a ball on the couch, terrified of what the Allfather would do to him when the confrontation came.

"As you know, he depleted his magic significantly, and he is still recovering from all that happened on Midgard, but he should wake up soon," Lady Eir said distantly.

"Oh, thank goodness," said Frigga.

"Will he be well enough to speak when he wakes, my lady? If not, I will not delay the war to wait for him." That was Odin.

"Oh, yes. From what Heimdall told me, he was doing well on Midgard up until he left, so he should recover rapidly once he gets over the initial shock from whatever spell that was yesterday. I'd expect his magic to rebound quickly enough as well. Whether he _will_ speak is an entirely different matter, you must remember."

"Of course."

"I must admit, though, I am still... disturbed if this is his physical state even after the healing spell we sent. It wasn't as strong as it might have been since it was stored in an object, but nevertheless, he must have had some acute injury that took up a lot of the extra restorative power."

"He did," Thor provided solemnly. "On his arm. From that very morning. And he did it himself."

"I can still hardly fathom it," Frigga breathed.

"We will be able to do much for his physical state, my lady, especially if he is cooperative once he wakes, although most of my workers are detained with the preparations..."

The voices had grown louder as the four walked back towards Loki.

Frigga was the first to notice that Loki had, in fact, moved, and flew to his side. "My son!" She sat on the edge of the couch and placed an arm on his shoulder. Loki shuddered and scrambled away from her, eyes opening wide at last. There were the hateful faces - Frigga, Odin, Thor, and Eir, wearing matching expressions of concern and sadness. All faked of course. Loki scowled at Frigga's crocodile tears. He reached up to rip out the hypocritical eyes...

And gently touched her cheek instead. "Mother," he whispered, before letting the hand drop again.

 _\- That wasn't one of his nightmares;_

"...How are you feeling, Loki?" she asked hesitantly.

Loki blinked to see Mama's worried face hovering over his. When did she get here? It seemed so long since he had seen her last. A week, at least. But she was never away for that long. Or had he been sick? Maybe she had been sitting with him all along. That was probably it. That was good. That's what mothers did, especially his. She was wonderful.

"Are you well, my son?"

Loki flinched and turned his head away, averting his gaze from the wife of the hated king. "Well enough."

Lady Eir joined them on the couch, checking his eyes and pulses in silence as Loki stewed. When finished, she arose and nodded to the royals. "Physically, he is as well as can be expected. I suggest you have him eat something. I shall take my leave for now, but I will return if needed, your majesties, my princes." She turned and left the room.

Slowly, Odin walked over. Loki resolutely stared in the opposite direction, wishing to be left alone. "What did you come to Asgard to say, Loki?" the king asked softly.

Loki stood with a snort, swaying slightly as his vision dimmed momentarily. "I have nothing to say to you, Allfather." He strode towards a corner of the enormous room. His family hastened after him, and he broke into a disjointed run, heart beating wildly, aching muscles protesting and lungs instantly straining.

Odin stopped and called after him, "That seems unlikely given your dramatic entrance earlier."

Loki couldn't even remember when and how he had gotten here.

 _\- That's interesting._

Loki reached the far wall and sank down by a pillar, half hidden in its shadow. He was relieved when it seemed none of his adoptive family was pursuing him. But they weren't gone.

"Loki," Frigga called plaintively, "I think you know that your father is planning an attack on the creature called Thanos, for what he did to you..."

Loki didn't hear the rest as the rushing noise in his ears swallowed all else. He did not want to think about Thanos. He did not want to think about the Other. He did not want to think about the Void. He did not want to think about anything.

"Loki?" Thor's voice echoed in his head.

He would not think about it.

 _\- I don't know how he did that either._

What had he been thinking about? Loki straightened and looked around in some surprise. He wasn't in the plain little house the Avengers kept him in. Truth be told, it looked like he was in Asgard, but that was impossible.

\- _Not this again._

"Loki?"

That was his mother's voice. Perhaps he was on Asgard after all. There must be a good reason for it, after all this time... Ah, yes. The memory surfaced zealously, sending a chill through him. Loki stood up from his position and wobbled back into the main part of the room.

He spun back around with a sob when he caught a glimpse of who else was in the room. What was he going to do?

 _...Was it instinct, somehow?_

Resolutely, the younger scion of Asgard faced the wall and addressed his speech for his father to the cold stone. "If you enter into battle with the Mad Titan now, Asgard will surely perish. He is stronger than you imagine."

"Why?" asked Odin from behind.

Loki cringed momentarily, but then whipped back around in anger as he detected poorly hidden condescension in the old king's voice. He glared at the smug royals standing before him. They were such naive fools, resting on the long tradition of Asgardian supremacy, never dreaming it could all come crashing down around them. And so easily. They didn't deserve his help. He would leave, return when the dust had settled, and pick up the pieces. Anyone left would come to recognize how right he had been and bow down. With a snarl, he strode past them, pushing the idiot Thor out of the way.

 _\- But, why should his instincts_

Except he was too weak. When he made to push Thor, Thor stepped back very slightly, and Loki nearly fell to the ground. Why had he bothered to push Thor in the first place? He knew it was pointless, after all. He stumbled back to the couch he had been sleeping on and sat on the edge, staring at his toes. He shouldn't have come back. All that did was place him back in Odin's power and back into fruitless comparison with his brother. They would never listen to him, no matter what he said. Even if their lives were at stake, they would never _believe_ him. His family needed a warrior to respect, not an untrustworthy, sneaking sorcerer and reader of foolish old books. And he needed a family that understood and forgave, which he would never get here. He needed a family that... he needed his family. An image flickered before his thoughts, a dark room filled with dazzling lights, the most beautiful things he could ever imagine...

These tears were so tiresome, but he couldn't get them to stop.

 _\- be better than mine?_

"Why, Loki?"

"Why what, Allfather? Why do I disappoint you? You know that already. I'm a Jotun, a monster. What did you expect? Why do I disobey you? Why do I mock 'sacred' traditions? Why did I ruin Thor's coronation and take the crown? Why did I let go of the Bifrost? Why did I join with the Chitauri and invade Earth? Why do I hate you? Why did I hide from you? _I_ don't expect you to understand. Why should you?" Loki sat up straight and swiped at Odinson's tears angrily. Pathetic imbecile.

"For the moment, I will settle for knowing why I shouldn't attack Thanos when he so justly deserves it," Odin said patiently, but with a hint of a growl.

Loki looked at the odious king questioningly. He almost sounded like he cared. Loki had assumed this was some power play and honor thing. He snorted derisively. "You are so ignorant. You think you are wise, the great king of the vast resources and ancient knowledge of Asgard. Thanos is older than you, stronger than you, more cunning than you, more ruthless than you know. You will die. And so will the rest of us. Except me." Loki couldn't really die, and so Thanos would merely take him prisoner again and torture him until he figured out how to change that.

 _\- Or is it that I_

Loki closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, though his body seemed to have other ideas. His chest was heaving. He dreaded his fate. He knew exactly what was coming and couldn't stop it. He couldn't do anything. Asgard would fall. The Aesir would be eliminated. And he would never see Hela again. Or Njalli. Or Jormungand. Or Meira, or Aud, or Bolli. And Sleipnir would die in the battle. As would Fenrir when Thanos laid waste to this planet. Loki dropped his head to his hands, fingers curling along his scalp. They were all gone and out of his reach for good. Vali and Narfi. Aki and Anton. Arnbjorg, Svanhildur, Kjartan, Brynja, Dagny, Oskar, Sigrun, Hamarttan, Unnur, Eyjahar...

 _\- would think twice before_

Lost in his litany, Loki didn't hear the other questions he was asked and certainly didn't answer. He didn't realize when his slowly tightening fists started to pull out hair by the roots. He didn't feel it when someone took his shoulders and shook him, or when this changed to a warm embrace from many distraught hands, or when someone waved warm broth and bread before his face. He didn't notice when he was left alone at last.

 _\- doing whatever it was he did?_

After a time, he drifted into a daze, lingering on the edge of sleep as the shadows lengthened in the room and the temperature dropped to the cool of night.

 _\- That seems likely._

The door opened, and Loki was instantly awake, blinking in the pale morning light. He dived off the couch and rolled behind the ornate desk nearby. A brisk breeze sighed through the wind flutes overhead, and he cowered at the all-too-familiar sound. If he could be anywhere but here, he would. Almost anywhere.

 _\- We seem to be terrified._

Cautiously, he peered around the desk. It took a moment to recognize the people coming in as the humans he had seen so frequently in the past month. Captain Rogers, Dr. Sarmit, Agent Natasha... The other Avengers held back slightly for now. Thor must have fetched them. He couldn't help but shudder at the thought. Sarmit strode straight up to his cover, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to ward her away. It was too late now; he would never be left in peace again, now that he was back here.

 _\- All of us, except me._

"Loki, what happened? You just disappeared right into a frankly rather terrifying black portal thing two days ago. We thought you might be dead, until Thor showed up today and said you were here. And now they tell us you've been ignoring them since noon yesterday... Why did you come?"

It was much easier to focus on the how than the why at the moment. "I had to come. I- I opened the passage. I shouldn't be strong enough on my own, especially now, but I used the Void, and also the traces of the Tesseract to guide the way..."

He looked up at her and was forcibly distracted to see a massive bruise blossoming over her temple, in stark contrast with the iron-gray of her hair. Sarmit's eyes were wide in confusion, but not, he thought with a strange relief, pain.

It was Tony back by the door who interjected indignantly, "you could still access the Tesseract from _Earth?"_

 _\- Not too surprising, I suppose._

Loki snorted. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, mortal. But yes. I could. I have been in contact with it before, and that contact too has been cemented by the dark web of the Void." Loki didn't know exactly how Odinson had actually made _use_ of the connection, though. He had thought it impossible from so far away. Given the results, he was not pleased to be proven wrong.

"Ugh. I shouldn't have been a scientist. Magic is so unfair."

"Shut up, Tony," one of the others said. Loki grinned despite himself.

Sarmit spoke again, urgently. "Why did you come, Loki? What did you want to say to Odin?"

"I think it should be clear by now that _I,_ you contemptible, sycophantic shrink, did not _want_ to come and have nothing to say to him. Ask someone else if you feel you must know."

"You are being petulant, Loki, and you know it. I am certain you know what Odinson wanted to say, so either say it for him or let him come forth."

Loki could think of no reason to stand for these insults. He rose to his feet and stalked to a more dignified seat than on the ground behind a desk.

 _\- LOA isn't willing to tell them,_

Captain Rogers was the first to follow him to the couch. "Loki, we understand your anger. I'm mad at Odin and Thor too, for that matter. They've made a mess of your life, and by extension are basically responsible for all the headaches you've given us."

"My heart bleeds for you, Captain," Loki interjected with all the disdain he could muster.

"Nonetheless, a significant part of you thought it was important to come here -"

"Go away."

"- And stop Odin's attack on Thanos."

Loki froze, and looked away. "If you don't leave, I will."

"Loki, Odin's still preparing for war, and he will launch the attack within days, according to Thor. Heimdall knows exactly where to send the Bifrost. If you want Odin to stop, you'd better have some pretty devastating news. If you want him to win, you'd better tell us everything you know."

"Who said I wanted him to win?" Loki asked softly. He didn't mean it.

"You did, when you opened that portal to the throne room." Loki turned his thoughts inward. This was not his problem. The Odinson could handle it. Or the Prince, or the Scholar, or the _Monster_. He didn't care any more. His eyes closed.

 _\- and Odinson is too frightened, now._

 _"_ Loki? I know you can hear me."

Loki let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. He shivered, and not from cold, never from cold. He had to answer them. It was important. He breathed in again, ready to start his explanation, but the words died in his throat. Almost unconsciously, he wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward, resting his head on his knees. Someone new sat down beside him and patted his back.

"I know it's hard." It was Natasha's voice. She spoke hesitantly. She always did when she was trying to be comforting. Loki could tell ever since he first woke up in that horrible house on Midgard that sympathy didn't really come naturally to the trained assassin, but she kept trying and if he was being honest with himself, kept succeeding. "We are all here for you, but this is on you. Pretend we aren't in Asgard at all. It's just us you're talking to."

How quaint, her belief that he could just forget for even an instant where they were. The room they were in, the sound of the wind in the chamber, the very smell and taste of the air was all undeniably Asgard, and thus undeniably unsafe.

 _\- We need Prince._

Once again, Loki tried to speak and failed. This infantile paralysis would be his final failure, the final action, or more properly inaction, that brought Asgard down. It was ridiculous. He stopped listening to the cajoling of the mortals. Their questions and prompts were no more motivating than his own desperation after all, and that was no match for his cowardice, it seemed.

 _\- But I don't think Prince is coming back right away._

Loki arose in silence and walked along the edge of the room, just taking in the familiar sights, since they would soon be lost. Yet his eyes nevertheless turned away from the living spaces of the room to concentrate on the reassuring mundanity of the wall itself. He reached out to find the nearly imperceptible mortar lines and started numbering stones. Stones and steps. Fifteen steps from here to the next pillar, 465 inches, would take him past 892 stones, if he counted all the way up to the ceiling. Almost two stones per inch... It soothed his overwrought mind and slowed his racing heart, counting, although he already knew exactly how many blocks there were comprising the confines of this room, and every room in this place really. He had tallied them all in his most lonesome years here, one by one in his own room as a small child, but then much faster when he was a little older and had realized that all the stones were perfectly regular and that he could calculate their number by the length and height of the walls alone if he used the right math to compensate for arches and vaults. His wandering paused at a window, where he traced the crystalline veins in the granite sill with his fingertips. He looked out the window and smiled slightly at the new twin moons he hadn't seen in several years, gray-white and burnt sienna in the pale turquoise sky.

 _\- Both he and LOA are too spooked for that._

His lip curled as he imagined the city in ruins, which it soon would be. Even if Thanos did take him, even if Thanos managed to disembody him, with eternity stretching on, he would still surely have a chance to come back in the end. How would he rebuild it when the time came? He snorted - with exactly the same number of stones, plus one for snark? But should he bother to rebuild? Better to leave the place in ashes, a testament to the monumental stupidity of the Aesir. There would be other worlds for him. He sighed in irritation as the mortals cautiously followed him over to the window, perhaps sensing his mood. If they failed to leave him in peace, maybe he would kill them. Even as he was now, it shouldn't be that hard.

 _\- There isn't anything I can do about that, unfortunately._

"What can we do to make it easier for you to speak?"

Loki turned back around idly to see the one who had spoken. The Man of Iron was possessed of a pleasing tenor with just a bit of delicious gruffness. "What do you want me to say?" Loki asked him pleasantly.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe what caused you to come to Asgard all of the sudden?" Loki grinned. Sarcasm was always welcome.

"I have no idea. The boys have yet to let me know, for some reason."

Loki's smile widened as various Avengers slapped their foreheads, threw their hands in the air, or found ruder ways to express their incredulity.

"We cannot catch a break," Hawkeye said, clearly speaking for all of them.

"Remember it's not his fault," the psychiatrist said placatingly, though she too looked... disheartened.

 _\- Although, maybe..._

"Wait, this brings up a new point. What's Scholar doing if he's not getting the information out to all the others?"

 _\- Perhaps..._

"Maybe he doesn't think it's important? Or they just aren't listening?"

 _\- Maybe the other Stone?_

 _"_ I highly doubt that."

 _\- If Odinson could use the Void_

 _"_ Whatever the reason, I don't think we should waste time speculating." Captain America stepped forward and took Loki's hands. "We told you a couple days ago that Odin was planning to attack Thanos. When you heard that, you somehow opened a portal to Asgard in order to warn him not to, but we're all still waiting for the full explanation about Thanos."

"...I see." Loki extricated her hands as bile rose in her stomach. Of course Father would do something like this when he discovered what happened, and of course the others would react as they had. This was catastrophic.

"You need to pull yourself together and be Asgard's prince one more time."

 _\- to access the Tesseract from Earth,_

Loki sat upon the ground, staring mournfully across the room. He could hear the distant sounds of the armory preparing for Odin's war. They'd be telling sad stories of the deaths of kings soon enough. He had warned them. Hadn't he? He must have by now.

 _\- maybe I can do the same..._

"What if we took him back to Earth?" Dr. Banner said suddenly.

 _\- in reverse..._

"We can't. Heimdall isn't going to send the Bifrost anywhere but the battlefield now."

 _\- from here..._

"So the only way out of here is the way Loki got in, and he probably couldn't do that again anyhow, let alone take us with him."

 _\- It would solve the problem._

Actually, it occurred to him (his brain was always desperate for distraction now), he probably could open another portal if he really wanted to. Magic was like a muscle; the more you used it, the more there was, given enough rest in between. Two days of rest was enough for that. If he kept burning himself _almost_ dry this regularly, he'd have the capacity to surpass his old strength in a matter of months. It was the continuous usage down to absolutely nothing followed by weeks of abstinence during his... illness... that had weakened him so thoroughly. But in any case, he might not be able to take humans with him, and he certainly wouldn't be able to get them all back without another day or so of rest afterwards. Not to mention leaching extra power from the Void wasn't a particularly pleasant way to travel.

 _\- Probably._

 _"_ Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Natasha said.

"What do you mean?"

 _\- Do I dare?_

 _"_ We're trying to get him to tell us things that are obviously really painful and frightening for him. The situation is basically like when we were first trying to get him to talk back home. Sarmit, what if we tried that thing you do - just guess and see if he confirms or denies?"

 _\- It would be unpleasant,_

 _"_ It would help if I had some idea what to guess, Agent Romanoff."

 _\- for both of us._

"But that might work," Dr. Banner said thoughtfully. "If we put our minds to it, I'm sure we could come up with something, and any information we can get is better than none."

"We really don't have much to go on, though. I mean, from what Thor said, Odin knew _of_ him and his race but didn't actually have many more useful specifics beyond what we already got from our Thanatos research, which was shaky enough," Steve said.

 _\- Also irreversible._

"Thanatos as in the Greek god of death?" Tony asked.

"Well, yes. We, um, thought Thanos might have made his way into some Earth mythology, since Loki did, and since Hades was apparently real. Thanatos was our best guess. But there doesn't seem to be much about him besides a family tree and that he's scary and can kill things, and I highly doubt Loki came here just to tell Odin that Thanos is 'son of Night and Darkness.' I mean, it's just too vague."

Indeed not.

 _\- But necessary,_

"It would be nice if he would just _tell_ us, since he knows," Agent Barton complained after a moment.

 _\- I think._

"Not helpful, Clint." Perhaps not, but Loki agreed with the one called Clint. It would be nice if he could just say it. He dug his fingernails into his palms with a vengeance, but it didn't help. His tongue was stubbornly still and mouth closed. It was a fine time to learn how to be silent. Then he winced as he recalled the original lesson a millennium ago.

 _\- Next question,_

At least Odin would get just punishment for _that_. Loki could still recall the pain in his lips as if the stitches had only been removed yesterday. He glared at the metal boots of the human standing in front of him. The same man, he thought, had designed the metal gag Thor had placed on him two years ago. Oh, how he had hated the thing, not because it kept him quiet but because of the memories it dredged up. His poor twins. Loki kicked the red and gold boot as hard as he could, barring his teeth in satisfaction as the human wearing it crashed to the ground.

 _\- how?_

"What the Hell?" the man shouted. Loki snickered.

 _\- It would help if I were in control,_

"I don't think he's listening to us, somehow."

 _\- probably._

The door opened, and Frigga and Thor walked into the room. Loki brought his knees to his chest and tried to merge with the wall. He failed, but he maintained the hope that it might work eventually if he kept trying. Better to be stone.

"Any luck so far, Avengers of Earth?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady," Captain Rogers answered. "Although, we have an idea of what we might try. But we need your help."

"Of course."

"If we can come up with some educated guesses of what he _might_ want to say, we figure it would be easier for him to just say yes or no..."

"And you would like our help in coming up with useful guesses."

"Exactly."

 _\- Although,_

"I will be glad to help of course, but I fear that Thor nor I will be able to add much." Frigga stepped closer, Thor trailing guardedly behind her. Loki concentrated his toes.

 _\- if I just wait long enough,_

Frigga knelt at his side, as everyone else looked on in silence. She placed a hand on his knee. Loki automatically covered her hand with his own, then stared at it in distraction.

"My son, have you eaten today?"

 _\- things might settle down a bit,_

Loki wanted to laugh at the foolish woman. She was just like the healer on Midgard. No, he had not eaten, not today or yestereve, but she should not be concerning herself with such things. She should be trying to worm things out of the Odinson like everyone else. He tilted his head back and grinned wryly at the ceiling, but didn't answer.

 _\- and I'll be able to access the magic..._

"I think we should all leave you in peace for a bit while you break your fast. Your friends and I will talk and figure out what we might ask you when we come back."

Since when were these mortals his friends?

 _\- Hopefully._

"I will have the cooks send you something mild but filling. You are too thin."

 _\- And provided the others don't use any of it._

Frigga smoothed back Loki's hair and hugged him. He froze. "I know you're trying, dearest, and I have every confidence that you will make me proud before the day is out. Take your time and relax."

 _\- That was nice, Mother._

She stood up and walked away. Thor fell into step behind her, shoulders hunched.

 _\- Now, if they would all just_

"Was that a royal command or a suggestion?" Tony asked quietly from the floor.

 _\- leave us in peace._

"Does it matter? I think she's right either way. Let's go. We'll come back later, Loki, when you're ready. Sorry if we pressed you too hard." Captain Rogers followed the queen from the room. One by one, all the others said their awkward goodbyes and left as well. Loki was alone.

 _\- Perfect._

Loki got to his feet and moved back to his couch. It was more comfortable than the floor, after all. He even ate some of the fruits and breads the kitchen staff brought him a couple minutes later. They were Asgardian delicacies he hadn't sampled in over three years now. He had missed them. He sat still, keeping his mind carefully blank, just letting himself enjoy being back home, even though he knew this temporary peace was an illusion that wouldn't hold longer than an hour or so. But still, it was nice, for an hour...

 _\- Now,_ _then._

Scholar gathered every scrap of their own magic he could and sent his thoughts into the vast darkness above and around them, reaching for the tenuous, invisible tethers he could feel guiding him through the black to a small, magical stone glowing a warm, deep gold inside Stark Tower, millions of miles away on Midgard. Mercilessly, he yoked them to the Void's blistering magic and used it to isolate Prince's consciousness and shove all the others cowering to the periphery of their shared mind. He gasped as he found himself in complete control of them all for the first time in his life, then gritted his teeth and opened himself more fully to the Void. His vision grew dark with the ominous aura growing around them. He could feel his muscles spasming painfully at the stimulation, and a deeper, biting pain as he finally felt in person the true extent his native magic had been depleted these last few months. The deficit was easily renewed by the Void, but he wouldn't have much time. With another burst of effort that burned white agony behind his eyes, he was rewarded with a dark sphere spinning on his palm, drawing in the shadows that had been swirling around him, and lightly burning his skin. The sphere emitted a deep and eerie groan that vibrated in his bones and even shook the room as it resisted his efforts. In his head, he could also hear the mindless and wordless chilling shriek he instantly recognized as the voice of the infinite darkness, welcoming him back. The room roiled before his eyes, and now he could not tell if the magic was simply upsetting his equilibrium or actually disturbing the very foundations of the palace. He heard someone enter the room, but he did not look up to see who it was. He sent a splinter of thought out onto the Bifrost and felt the instant response of the Tesseract's azure Stone there lending him its power.

Quickly, he threaded strands of blue and green magic into the nebulous sphere, smiling thinly as he felt the linkages form strong and true. He drew Prince along the tiny green-golden lines of energy that still bound the mind of Loki to the Mind Stone, even across all this distance. That distance became as nothing through the guiding lens of the Tesseract and the sheer, uncaring power of the Void. Scholar felt Prince's mental shudder as their thoughts warped across the divide and reached the Stone. He resolutely passed the pure green threads of their own power through the Stone, weaving a spell to bind their two consciousnesses together completely. Finally, he drove Prince's thoughts into the Stone, before dissolving his own in as well, completing the magic.

Loki returned to himself, with a feeling like the breaking of a rubber band. For a moment, all he could see was the gold of the Stone, and he wondered if his own eyes were glowing. Gradually, this resolved back into the sphere in his hands, now sparkling and golden rather than black, shrinking and fading, its purpose complete. As his hearing likewise returned, he realized he had started screaming at some point and stopped. The pain was gone. Or at least, the horrible anguish from his renewed contact with the Void was gone. He did have a headache now. And his scalded palms stung. And he had a different sort of pain to last forever. So many things he had blissfully forgotten, all remembered in an instant. He stood up abruptly, startling the small crowd gathered around him. He clapped his hands to his ears in a fruitless effort to shut out the horrible conversations he now remembered. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the beautiful faces of all his children continued to swim before him, as well as the mummified husks that made a mockery of his love.

Why had he kept them, again? Why hadn't he buried them, or given them over to the flame? How had he been so uncomprehending?

 _Because I didn't want to remember, didn't want to understand_ , a new part of him answered, gently.

And he remembered other terrible things. He remembered that there was something deeply and horribly _wrong_ with him. He was a Jotun, not a true Asgardian at all, not born of the Aesir. And he was insane; there were _others_. And now, the others had names... Odinson, LOA, LOJ, the Lady, and the Alterego, and perhaps more still, voiceless Lokis stealing fleeting looks out of their shared eyes before hiding themselves away again where even the one who had called himself Scholar couldn't ferret them out. Loki started laughing miserably, uncaring of what the faceless people surrounding him thought. And here he was, the Scholar-Prince. A mockery of the ancient, admirable, futile, ideal Midgardian philosopher-king. He was Prince Loki, second son of the King of Asgard, and now fully aware for the first time in centuries of the full extent of his own misery. That which was once Scholar was now merely part and parcel of the Prince. And try as he might, the Prince couldn't do a thing about it. Or rather, thinking about the fearsome and frankly ludicrous magic he had just performed, he could, but absolutely wouldn't. There was no escaping now. He would not leave the others to wreak mayhem in his name. He would have to own up to his faults, face his fears, manage his... brethren, since he could now no longer merely bow out with this cursed awareness... But first things first, he needed to protect Asgard and make sure his father didn't commit to a suicidal attack on the Mad Titan.

 **Author's Note: It's very confusing, being Loki. 10 points to the Hogwarts House of your choice if you can correctly count the number of Loki personalities that showed up in this chapter. If you are feeling utterly lost, I apologize, and I suggest going back and reading just the italicized lines. Those are Scholar's internal monologue; the rest is not really filler per se but more character-building touchy-feely stuff, not necessarily narrative.**

 **PS: OK, the silly disclaimer at the top was silly. Sue me. I like Ozymandias (poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley) and read it again recently.**

 **PPS: In case you are wondering, no, the days do not line up exactly between Earth and Asgard, because that would be far too convenient for chance astronomy, and I wanted to give Loki a bit more recovery time before the morning rumpus. :P Loki left Earth mid-afternoon and arrived in Asgard immediately after, in Asgard's early morning. The Avengers left Earth a couple days later, in New York's afternoon and Asgard's morning. Thus by the time Scholar does his thing, two full days since teleporting. But I digress.**


	16. Revelations

**Marvel at Marvel, for they are makers and owners of inspiring things that drive us to creative extrapolation and expansion. Such as the Avengers.**

Natasha wished Loki would sit down. For over an hour, he would only pace the room or stand like a statue, impatient with the ministrations of the Asgardian healer Lady Eir. Whatever had happened, it had made him ready to speak, and he was not pleased with the delay. However, Frigga had overruled everyone and forbade any discussion of Thanos or the impending war or anything else until she was certain her baby was all right. Now, here he stood, straight and tall, rigid actually, clothed again in green royal style, staring carefully at Nat and Sarmit inconspicuous in the distance rather than at his adoptive parents who waited before him. But he was talking to the monarchs, not the humans. It was a little disconcerting.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the target Heimdall has acquired for you, the place he means to set the Bifrost, that is the second, larger Chitauri fleet, yes? The one sent with me to Midgard was merely a small fraction of the larger whole."

"You are correct. They lie in their ships in the dead spaces among a field of asteroids."

"Naturally. That is Thanos' home base. He will be there. However, the Chitauri are not his only minions."

"Of course not, but the others ride with them in the leviathans."

"No."

Odin stopped his slow pacing and looked at Loki. Loki's eyes still focused determinedly elsewhere.

"No? Explain, then." Frigga touched his shoulder, and his eyes flicked to her then back to Loki. His posture softened. "If you can," he said more gently.

Loki blinked, but remained expressionless, speech measured and careful. "The Chitauri are the only people entirely sworn to him, it's true. But he has countless slaves, broken as I was in his 'Death Pits.' He does not choose every victim to be his servant but rather curates his army with care. Most of his captives submit in days, but these are taken away and killed. The ones that last more than a week he keeps and presses until they belong to him utterly... I was clearly far more practiced than his other captives in the art of intransigence. I saw hundreds come and go through my long imprisonment: elves, dwarves, demons, frost giants, fire giants, monsters and creatures I cannot name, even the odd human with peculiar strength to catch his eye. He devised unique tortures for all of them. None of these ride with the Chitauri. They are scattered throughout the Nine Realms and the asteroids where Thanos presently makes his abode, hidden. Some even are returned secretly as his agents back to their homes. They far outnumber the Chitauri army Heimdall saw. Even if your strike is swift and sure against the Chitauri, you can trust that the enemy's number will only grow."

"Yet Asgard's might can stand against any creature in the Nine Realms, and without an easy means of access like our restored Bifrost, these others you speak of will have to trickle to the field. Such a battle may be hard and longer than we first anticipated, but it can be won. What else?"

Loki smiled crookedly. "There is another foe already on the field that would not be clear even to Heimdall's eye. And none of you here has yet faced such a thing. Thanos does not merely kill any of the magic users who fail to last at least a week as his guest. First, he extracts the core of their power, then re-anchors it to mommets formed of the dust of his barren kingdom and the poor magician's blood. This is a second army of wights under his direct control, formless and thus invisible until called and impossible to fight except with more magic."

"That might have been your fate!" Frigga gasped suddenly, reaching out to Loki, who jerked away. Natasha was surprised the queen had lasted this long; she was clearly desperate to address the looming elephant in the room - the torture Loki wasn't talking about.

Loki glanced at her, briefly and warily, then closed his eyes and stood stock still. "Don't touch me," he said in a low voice.

The queen withdrew, fingers clenching. "I'm sorry."

Odin pulled her to his side and murmured, "That would never be the fate of our son. He is too strong." Loki's cheek twitched, and Odin continued, "This is indeed more disturbing news, but it seems these 'wights' as you term them could not be that powerful. Even without magic to defend him, such minor sorcery would not slow a foot soldier of Asgard."

"Some are weaker than others, and none would rival me, nor Thor, nor you, nor most of the Aesir with even a little of the gift. But there are swarms of them, and your sorcerers are relatively few. Besides, those are only the lesser revelations. Have you ever heard the Midgardian saying that bad things come in threes?"

"And what is the third calamity? As of now, you have yet to persuade me to forgo our vengeance."

"Before I get to the rest, I might mention that among his slaves are a number of the Aesir."

" _What?"_ Odin shouted, causing Loki to flinch slightly.

"Warriors you thought lost in battle. I recognized a few, and I saw dozens. He must send agents to scavenge them from the abandoned battlefield when they're on the verge of death. They faced a slightly different fate than the rest, so I guess he must have realized from the start I was not a true Asgardian. He didn't care for any of them to merely submit, whether in days or in weeks. Rather than the usual tortures, he instead sent the most vicious of his cast-offs to fight against them by the dozens. The Aesir of course were not permitted weapons and in fact were handicapped in some way, most often kneecaps split and some major tendons severed. The fights were incessant, no pauses for rest or water. After all, whatever damage inflicted, it could be healed at the end of it with Thanos' resources. It never took that long before each would go berserk. That was the goal, you see. It didn't matter to Thanos how many lesser fighters he had to give up if the prize was a berserker. They are all kept in the dead spaces, by the way. He knows better than to broadcast their presence throughout the Nine Realms."

Odin finally looked a little shaken. "And this happens to all Asgardians he captures?" Loki nodded. "I am not certain I believe it... How in the name of my forefathers can he possibly contain them? He would need another army just for that."

Loki shrugged. "I think he feeds a lot of the lesser cast-offs to them, enough to keep them reasonably well occupied with the sport. And some of them were brought into the Death Pits later, as berserkers, for short bouts to keep them in line I suppose."

"It is impossible to train berserkers to toe the line, Loki. We know that. Even torture wouldn't work. They don't feel pain."

"You obviously haven't tried. They can feel pain just as well as anyone else, they just disregard it, mostly. And just like any creature, a crazed and bloodthirsty berserker will become frightened and do whatever it takes to _stop_ the pain if you hurt them hard and often enough. Their punishments were... savage, and seemingly pointless. The torturers never told them what they had to do to comply that I saw, though I admit I was a little preoccupied by my own... unwanted distractions. It was like they were simply adhering to some grisly schedule.

"The first one I saw, well, it was Fandral's cousin, actually. Hoenir the Mute, who we thought dead in the Vanir War. He saw me chained in my blood on the far wall, I know he did, but any recognition was gone from his eyes. He struggled like a wild thing when they brought him in, kicking and punching and biting, yet never making a sound. Even battle-crazed, near soul-less, he was Hoenir still. Then they drew such scars across his body: deep, deep cuts, down to bone and viscera and sinew, and poured boiling vinegar over the wounds. _Not fun_ , by the way. I got to try it too, several times. It took about eight hours before he finally screamed. That's the only time I've ever heard his voice, and he couldn't even say anything. Didn't last long, though. They blood-eagled him for the temerity of crying out, and just left him to sit and suffocate in silence, a spell sustaining his life and misery. An hour of that, and they were done. Thanos himself came and healed his injuries, pushed the lungs back under ribs and everything. They led him back out, docile as a lamb, until he grabbed a prisoner halfway to the door and ripped his throat open, tried to eat him alive. Then they had to be a bit more forceful with him, but they certainly weren't surprised or disturbed or annoyed at the encounter, and he didn't try to hurt the guards or torturers at all. It was the same with any berserker brought down. No change in their violence, just in their targets."

"Hoenir," Frigga murmured, tears running down her cheeks, "poor, quiet Hoenir. Such a beautiful boy, and wise man. So gifted. Fandral will be devastated..."

"As would Mimir," Odin mumbled, touching his eyepatch gently. He regarded Loki warily. "What is the last of it?"

"Thanos himself."

"What of him? He is a Titan. He will not die a natural death, but they die well enough when _un_ naturally killed. Thanos himself demonstrated as much when he slaughtered most of his own people a thousand years before you were born. He is no stronger than an Asgardian, and we have sorcerers to match his kind, even without... even if you are not able to join us."

"You do not. You have no idea the power he holds, because he does not display it. He does not fight directly and honorably, but rather schemes and plots, strikes from behind, plays both enemies and allies against each other, sends forth underlings to do his work when he may." Natasha was struck by the peculiar feeling that Loki could be describing himself as much as Thanos. And though Loki's Asgardian parents were doing their best to be inscrutable, she suspected they thought the same. Loki continued, "He has augmented his physical strength with technology and alchemy, rather like Thor's Midgardian friends, the Man of Iron and the Captain of America, both mere humans who can now hold their own against the God of Thunder as well as an Asgardian could. He has augmented his innate magic with artifacts, stolen power, and... the Void." The last words were a hiss, accompanied by a shudder, the first during this long recitation.

Odin reached out a helpless hand of comfort to his son, before Frigga stopped him. Loki still had his eyes closed, didn't see, didn't move. "Forgive me, Son. Though I listened through Huginn and have spoken with the Midgardians, I still do not fully understand what you mean by that. Can you explain?"

A sharp intake of breath, then a breathy laugh. "How to explain infinity to one who has never truly beheld it? You have stood on the edge of the Bifrost and seen into the depths of space. I have fallen into those noisome depths, fallen far enough for the word 'deep' to lose its meaning, with no top or bottom left to consider. Fallen so far through such vast emptiness that to plummet at speed was much the same as being still. There is a little power here and on each of the Nine Realms, enough to summon storms, enough to create illusions, enough to heal, but here, that power is still so... limited. There is too much else for magic to have room to blossom. Too much matter, too much life. In all the vastness of the Void, there is nothing, except intangible energy, and _that_ power is limitless. I tapped into it by chance, almost involuntarily, before I realized what I was doing, before I knew the consequences, and now I am cursed, as no doubt you heard through Huginn. Thanos uses the Void with intent. He is like me in that his soul cannot be casually dismissed to Hela's judgment. Worse for you, as long as he maintains the connection strong and true, he can regenerate his body no matter how much you hurt him, as I could before he snatched back my fledgling control. He has bound himself so tightly to the Void that he wields the power like his own fist and is thus unbeatable. _He_ cannot be touched, and yet one of his strikes could wreak utter devastation on any foe.

"The only thing that could make him stronger now is if he had access to the more pliable power and ancient knowledge held inside the Infinity Stones, which is why he is after them. Mercifully, he has only managed as of yet to lay hand on the Mind Stone, which he of course lost when he sent it to Midgard with me." Loki smiled more broadly then. "Its power was too subtle for him to appreciate. He likes spectacular death and destruction. That is his only true ambition, it seemed to me, to murder and massacre for the sheer glory of it. His ham-fisted approach to his magic is effective for this end, but requires little true talent, just the strength of will which he has in abundance. No doubt he took some benefit from the Stone when he first encountered it, but he only _values_ it because it is part of the set. The Stone sensed this and shared only superficial secrets with him. The Space and Power Stones are likely of the greatest interest to him, and the greatest danger to us, but he wants them all."

"The _Stone_ sensed his disinterest?" Frigga asked. She didn't sound incredulous, as Natasha would have. Loki nodded slightly. "It told you? It likes you." Frigga said, a note of pride coloring her tone. Loki favored her with a knowing smile.

"No doubt the two of you could spend a couple centuries sitting with the thing and have a wonderful time discovering all its mysteries," Odin muttered with ill-grace. Natasha sensed that though Odin did have a gift for magic of some sort, he didn't enjoy it the same way Loki and Frigga seemingly did. After a time of silence, the king finally said, "You almost make it sound as if this great army Thanos has assembled is for the unique purpose of defeating Asgard, so well-designed to exploit our faults."

Loki opened his eyes and looked directly at his parents, consideringly. "It very well might have been, for until now, Asgard's was certainly the most powerful and most versatile fighting force in the Nine Realms. What other enemy would be worthier? What other battle so cataclysmic? What other death so magnificent? It would make sense..."

"I will contemplate carefully what you have said, my son. Asgard shall not launch the attack in haste, I think. We must be completely prepared. Perhaps we will even wait and summon allies... you have done well, Loki."

But Loki wasn't listening to that. His face was growing whiter, his eyes wider. Natasha shifted uneasily. He looked like the way he did before switching personalities sometimes, and she didn't trust miracle cures, even when magic was involved. "Don't thank me yet, Allfather."

"What's wrong, Loki?" Frigga said, rushing forward, but stopping just short of touching him. He paid her no heed.

"Just think a moment. His army is indeed perfect for defeating Asgard. Even if you do not attack him first, he means to invade here." His gaze shifted to and fro, and his breath caught. "He wants the Space Stone, and he wants the Bifrost. Especially now that the Tesseract is embedded in it. But he must have wanted it before as well, to have made such preparations. He seeks to use the Bifrost to gather the Stones with greater speed, and to unite the far reaches of his kingdom."

"Then we are yet more indebted to you for your forewarning," his mother said soothingly.

"You aren't thinking, my lady. My arrival here in _peace_ has a good chance of speeding up his schedule, particularly considering the way I got here. He could probably detect the portal. He already wants to punish me for deceiving and betraying him, and he certainly won't want to give you time to prepare if he knows I'm helping _you_. There's a good chance he will launch his own attack sooner, because of me."

"So then the question is whether to meet him in amongst the asteroids or suffer invasion here," Odin said.

"No, the question is, is it too late for you to lock me up and have him think I never said anything useful to you and he still has time, while you gather allies in secret."

"No, Loki, that is not the question. You will not bear the cross for all of Asgard. Not ever again."

"This is not an opportune time for you to discover sentimentality, _Father_."

"I discovered it long ago, Loki, and have loved you all your life. I am only sorry I failed to show you that."

Loki looked away. "It would probably be wishful thinking to delay him that way in any case," he sighed mournfully, suddenly looking a lot more tired.

"We don't even know that he will attack, dearest," Frigga said. "Heimdall has not observed any mobilization of his troops."

"He will," Loki said with grim certainty. After a moment, he started fidgeting, casting anxious glances towards the door, obviously wanting to get out. "That's it," he said. "That's all I wanted to say."

"Then go and rest, my darling. We can talk again later, when you're ready. Your brother and your other mortal friends have been working on your old room, making sure it is ready for you."

Loki offered a small, brave grin. "I dread to think."

Frigga laughed delicately, and moved to embrace him, unthinking. Loki stepped back involuntarily, and a muddy green bolt of power burst into the air between the two.

"No!" the prince shouted, and a web of darkness rose from his hands, snatching up the smaller spell an instant before it might have hit his mother and flinging it across the room, where it pulverized the onyx sideboard. He stumbled backwards, face ashen, as Odin pulled Frigga away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" Loki gasped. "It wasn't me..."

Somehow, Sarmit got to Loki before Natasha, heedless of further danger. She took his head in her hands and stared him straight in the eyes. "Which one was it then, Loki? Can you tell? LOJ?"

He looked at her with wide eyes. "I'm not sure. Probably, yes, but I don't know. I just don't know. It was so fast. I thought I would be able to hold them all back if I had to, and I _have_ to." His voice had become a hysterical whisper. "It's so hard. They have so much pent-up _feeling_ , and have so much to say, all of the time."

"Just breathe then, Loki. You've done what you came here to do. Now you need to rest and try to calm yourself. We will figure out what to do next later, when you are more relaxed. Let's go to your room."

"Yes. You're right, my lady doctor."

Natasha awkwardly bowed to the monarchs, before hastily following after Loki, who was practically running from the chamber, dragging Sarmit along with him. She caught one last glimpse of Loki's parents as she closed the door. They looked completely overwhelmed.

"Loki, do you want us to go on ahead and have Thor leave?" Sarmit asked breathlessly.

"Do you even know the way to my old room, doctor?"

"Well, no, but I was planning on asking for directions."

"Don't bother. I'll... be fine. The others are settling. And I should talk to Thor."

"Alright."

 **Author's Note: you should be getting a lot more updates in the next few weeks, as my other work is much reduced at the moment. Huzzahs all around. A note on mythology: Hoenir is actually a real Norse god and brother of Mimir the Rememberer, both of whom were held hostage in a war between Aesir and Vanir. Very little is known about Hoenir besides that he was good-looking, which is why he gets to be Fandral's cousin. The few stories he makes it into seem to conflict with each other. Mimir was at some point decapitated, and in some versions, his head was placed in the well where Odin sacrificed his eye for his wisdom.**

 **PS: Part of the reason I originally decided the Void itself is a source of endless magic is Arisotelian physics: above the spheres of earth, water, and air, are fire and then aether. Aether sounds cool, but all it does is produce perpetual circular motion (which may be useful as an energy source, but not for much else). Thus, fire is the more versatile option to fuel the Void. Incidentally, calling Aristotle's "fire" magic gives an automatic explanation for why any magic-user worth his salt should be able to fly-the sphere of fire is above the spheres of earth, water, and air, and any of the elements is automatically drawn toward its sphere. Therefore, in order to fly, a magician only needs a sufficient handful of magic to counteract the earth and water within him. Additionally, this form of flight would not allow Loki to avoid falling into the Void, since using magic would actually make it harder to get back to the Bifrost. But I digress. Even my version of the Marvel Cinematic Universe does not work purely on Aristotelian principles.**


	17. Parce que c'était lui

**Once upon a time, someone, somewhere, decided that it might be a good idea, for some poorly justified reason, to include some sort of disclaimer atop their fanart, rather than a simple, honest redirection of readers to the greatly beloved original. Poor justifications became myth, and myth became tradition, and tradition was rebelled against with snark and snobbery (guess which this is). The core truth of the matter remains the same: the real purpose of the purely-optional-at-this-point disclaimer that actually includes any relevant information is simply to give the creator a chance to glorify other creators, namely in this case, Marvel, without whom, there would be no Avengers, and thus no inspiration for this story.**

As soon as they opened the door, the God of Thunder dropped Mjolnir by the threshold and pounced, catching his brother in a bearhug and pulling him into the room. "Loki! I knew there was a part of you that was still strong and still cared! I am so happy for you! Thank you for coming back to us!"

Loki, for his part, plastered a broad smile on his face, but Agent Romanoff beside him saw his gritted teeth, and all his muscles tensing. "Let him go, Thor," she said, not too loud.

Thor, grinning like a fool, looked over at her. His smile faltered, and he let go quick as if Loki was a live coal. He stepped away and studied Loki, still, the younger brother was sure, striking a rather ghastly figure with his strained bearing. He couldn't help it. Even the Scholar-Prince instincts were screaming at him to escape. "Is not all well now, Brother?" Thor asked uncertainly.

For a moment, Loki said nothing, but then he shook himself and inhaled. "Except for Asgard's impending doom, all is well. Leave us, Avengers. I wish to speak with Thor." When nobody moved, he glanced at Dr. Sarmit. "I will be fine, and so will he. I will see you all later, I presume." The Captain was the first to comply, leading the others out. Agent Romanoff touched his arm lightly before stepping out and closing the door.

Loki strode into the room to what had been his favorite chair, near a bookcase by the window. Close enough to jump out of if necessary. Though there was nothing to land on outside, he had to remind himself. He sat down and looked around. "So little has changed. What were you and the mortals doing in here to 'get the room ready?'"

"Cleaning. Some of the staff were storing some rarely used items in here that they didn't want to take up to the attic storage, I guess. I intend to track down the layabouts when everything is settled down and put them to rights."

"...Why?"

"They had no right to treat your things with so little disrespect!"

"It's not like they piled up my books and other belongings and burned them. I wasn't here and wasn't coming back. I don't care."

"It's not like you to stand for such an insult."

Loki chuckled. "Isn't it though? It seems that is all I've ever done here, held my tongue, forgotten all slights. Well, I remember them now. Shall I revenge myself?"

Thor frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean, brother."

"All those petty acts of vengeance you recall, brother, they were not my work. That is to say, it was one of my... other selves. _I_ happily forgot all about it, until this morning when my spell made me remember. Now I remember Every. Single. Insult. And every single dismissive look across the eons. I remember every time you beat me down in the training yards and laughed, good-naturedly I guess, at my inaptitude. And I remember every one of Father's punishments, and how they compared to those you endured. _And I remember every time I came back from losing a child in Midgard, and how, SOMEHOW_ , _you never even NOTICED my pain._.. Am I that good a liar, brother, or did you never even care?"

Thor's eyes had grown wide as Loki shouted at him. He rushed forward and dropped to his knees by Loki's chair. "I swear! I had no idea! I, um... Damn it, Loki, I'm not observant like you are. You see through people like no one else I know, and you are good at lying. You came back, you said you were fine... I thought that's all there was to it." He leaned his forehead against the armrest. "Even just now, you came in and said all was well, and I believed you, even though now I see it really is not. Even though I had no reason to expect all to be well. I'm sorry. I- I always fall for your tricks, even when you aren't trying, because I so want to believe them. I want you to be fine. I want this to be behind us."

"This isn't something that I can just forgive, Thor. And I somehow doubt you want me to try forgetting again. You seem displeased with the results."

"Why did- Loki, brother, all the time I spent watching you on Midgard for the past months, I still do not understand. I know you have been through great pain, and I know that I and our parents have done you ill, but why... Why did you not tell me ages ago, before things got so bad, that things were going wrong? You've never avoided pointing out my errors before. Why not this time?" He looked up, biting his lip. "Why did you choose to forget instead?"

Loki laughed, tears suddenly streaming down his cheeks at the irony of the situation. "It was just so _obvious_ , Thor! I shouldn't have had to say anything. I could not believe that even gullible, oblivious _you_ didn't see what was going on. Most of me, the ones who cannot speak now, still do not believe it, don't you understand that? And later, of course, I learned it was dangerous to complain at all." He pushed himself back into the cushions moodily. "I forgot, Thor, because that was better than remembering. When I remembered, I was heartsick, miserable. When I remembered, I knew that I had no friends here as you have, and I knew... or rather, thought... that none of you, not you, not Odin, not Frigga, cared one whit about the anguish I lived with every day, anguish largely of Odin's making. It was much better to forget there was anything you should have shown sympathy for. But now... my heart has been hurting ever since I cast that damned spell. When I was able to forget, I was just unhappy most of the time, not despairing. It was easier."

"I'm so sorry, brother. I should have seen. Or maybe I did see, and didn't want to believe. It makes no difference now. But please, know that I love you and will do anything it takes to make this right."

Loki stood up, dragged Thor to his feet, and led him back to the door. He had said what he needed to; now he just needed to get away from his family. Hide himself, until he could face them again. "Right now, the best thing you could do for me is leave me in peace and let me sleep. I am... very tired. So go away. And take Mjolnir with you." He opened the door and aimed a light kick at the hammer on the floor. Both he and Thor stared at it in shock as it tipped onto its side with a dull _thud._

Thor looked at his brother in amazement. "Loki! How... This is wondrous!" He made to hug Loki again, but the younger prince held up his hands to stop him, still staring at the hammer on his bedroom floor.

"Get out."

"But, Brother... I don't understand. Surely Mjolnir's favor is a sign of healing?"

"I said get out."

"You're not pleased." Thor sounded confused.

Loki slammed the door shut again. "No, I am not! You have no idea, do you, Thor? I have not _changed_. This is not the new, better version of me that you have longed for. All I did was patch a mask together from existing scraps. I am barely maintaining my composure, barely restraining myself from fleeing our father's house. The mind you are talking to and that Mjolnir responds to has always been here. Don't you see? There is a part of me that even your hallowed hammer, which some say can divine the beating heart of Asgard, has always condoned, the part that you and Mother and Father love. _Yet the others are still here_. The ones the Avengers called Odinson, Loki of Asgard, Loki of Jotunheim, the Lady, they are all suppressed at the moment, but it is they who have lived the most important parts of my life in the past thousand years. And I think there may be others too. It is _they_ who are truly Loki. I can remember what happened now, but it is like I have two memories, one complete but nearly empty of feeling, one horribly fragmented but rich with color and emotion. One was 'Scholar's' and one was 'Prince's.' All that missing color - joy, boredom, amusement, fear, rage, longing, all of it - belonged to the others. Now, then, do you think I should be happy to learn that all I must do to gain the favor of Asgard is to give up the vast majority of myself for good? Hmm? Do you understand what I'm saying? Or are you too thick-headed, your skull weighted down from healing too many blows to the temple?"

Thor looked away. "I think I understand," he said softly.

"And I could do it, you know," the younger brother breathed. "The magic I used to forge this new consciousness, the Stone, well... I _could_ most likely use it to mend myself entirely in time. No more extra personalities at all. Everything back to the way it was before the Allfather took it into his head to use dangerous magic on my defenseless boys. Of course, I wouldn't be able to wield Mjolnir then, but that's only natural and to be expected, no loss. _But_. I could _also_ use the Stone to discard those extras. After all, I function like this. I hold all the memories in fact if not in substance. That's enough, isn't it? Father would be proud, wouldn't he? No more useless, fearful Odinson, no more unnatural _ergi_ tendencies, no more mean-spirited LOA, no more vengeful LOJ. Just the good bits. Or to put it another way, less emotion, less adventure, less mischief, less sense of personal justice, but plenty of knowledge and _duty_ to spare. No loss."

"Stop it, Brother. You've made your point."

Loki looked away. "I won't do either now, of course. I have no wish to engage the Stone from so far away again if I don't have to. I am afraid of what that kind of sorcery might do to me in time. I am afraid of what I might do if I let the others blend back in. I am afraid of what I might lose if I let them go. I am _terrified_ of what might happen if I lose control of them as we are now; _I almost killed our mother today_... One of my brethren could decide to turn the magic against the rest, including me. They know what I did, I'm sure. They could do the same, or worse." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, eyes blank and staring through the floor. "I do not enjoy being their shepherd, and I don't know how long I will be able to hold them."

"What can I do, Loki?" Thor said at last.

"I don't know. Don't tell anyone about Mjolnir. And get Heimdall to keep it quiet too, if he was looking. I have not had the strength to block his sight."

"I promise."

They stood there a couple moments more. "You should go," Loki said at last. "I really am tired. And I have a nasty headache."

"I'll go," Thor said. "But I'll be right down the hall later tonight, if you need me."

Loki smiled the ghost of a smile. Just like old times, when the brothers would comfort each other in the night, usually when Odin was lost to Odinsleep with Frigga standing watch over him for days at a time, leaving the boys to their own devices. But there was no chance Loki would call for Thor now if his dreams were troubled by too-familiar fiends, and no chance Loki would answer Thor's prayers if he dreamed his own nonsensical nightmares. He turned away. By the time Thor had shut the door behind him, Loki was already asleep, passed out diagonally atop the covers of his bed.

 **Author's Note: I randomly searched for applicable brotherly quotes on the internet to title this chapter, and found several awesome runners-up:**

 **"Big Brother is Watching You," from _1984_**

 **"Who Needs Superheroes When You Have a Brother" and "Brother: The Only Enemy You Can't Live Without" were both temptingly on point.**

 **The winner, though, was one I already knew. _Parce que c'était lui_ is part of a longer quote from the Renaissance French essayist Michel de Montaigne, regarding his great friendship with another young French philosopher, Étienne de La Boétie, who had recently died (at the age of 33):** **"If a man should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could not otherwise be expressed, than by making answer: because it was he, because it was I." That's the kind of intrinsic love Thor has for Loki, not just a habit and a sense of familial duty. Another Montaigne quote I came across that seems rather relevant to Loki's entire situation at the moment is** **"Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it."**

 **There is another chapter coming along the pipeline that should be ready soon. After that, it's a bit sketchy still.**


	18. Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

**To the victor go the spoils, and Marvel has won us all over with its Avengers franchise...**

"Loki? Loki!" Steve looked around the door at the distress in Thor's voice and saw the Trickster sitting on the floor of his room, which was dark and impressively wrecked since yesterday's check-in, holding his hands over his ears. The two of them sprinted through the door towards him, but then a wall of green closed off half the room, pulling them up short.

"Stop, leave him be." It was Loki's voice. Steve and Thor stared around in confusion for a moment, then an image of Loki appeared out of the green, perfectly calm and at ease.

"Brother, what are you doing? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's the matter."

"Then why are you..." Thor made an inarticulate gesture towards the huddled figure still recognizable through the translucent screen.

The image of Loki looked back, frowned, and the green grew denser, then shifted into an illusion of a pristine, well-lit version of the room, empty of any other Loki. "Sorry. You weren't meant to have seen that."

"Don't you dare tell me that nothing is wrong, Loki, when it is perfectly clear that everything is wrong! Don't you dare try to start this whole shitten cycle up again!"

"Relax, brother. There is nothing _new_ that is the matter. I've merely discovered that it's much easier on me to let the others take control of our body, while I maintain a firm grip on the magic. My physical form can only do so much damage you see; it is much more important to control any magical outbursts."

"And... and that's alright? You're doing well?"

"Yes."

"You're eating and resting?"

"You know, that's a good point. I've just been sitting like that all day, skipping meals. I might have to step in for dinner if this continues."

"Loki..."

"You're still keeping them all basically imprisoned in this room, aren't you?" Steve broke in, looking at the spot where the other Loki had been.

"You would prefer I let them wander free?"

"That one - Odinson, right? - wouldn't have caused any harm."

" _He_ wouldn't be the one leaving the room."

Thor stiffened and peered into the illusory chamber. "Let me see him," he said.

The image of Loki studied him for a moment. Then the illusion faded away, showing the room in all its chaotic glory, and the tragic figure still sitting unmoved in the center of the mess. Steve noted that though half the furniture was overturned and sheets and knick-knacks strewn across the floor, not a single book was out of place on the shelves except for one thick tome lying open on the bare mattress.

After a moment of just looking, Thor said, "You look so sad still. So broken."

The image of Loki said nothing, until Thor started to move forward. Shimmering green flames erupted between the three of them and the real Loki. "I don't think he wants to meet with you, Thor."

"He needs to. You said yourself the other day, you needed me to care. Well, I need you, brother. I want you to get better, and I will die if any part of you continues to think I don't care."

"Don't be so melodramatic. If you're lucky, he won't talk to you. If you're unlucky, one of the others will come forth and attack you."

"I don't care. He needs to learn that I love you. I love _all_ of you, even though it pains me."

After what felt like an hour but was probably only barely a minute, the Loki image waved an arm to dismiss the flames. "Go on, then." He winked out of existence, though Steve was left with the strangest feeling that Loki was still standing somewhere in the corner of his eye, or behind him. He could have sworn he heard the Trickster breathing down his neck even.

Thor walked farther into the room and knelt before his brother, who didn't seem to notice him. He placed his hands on Loki's shoulders, freed his brother's ears, and spoke to him in a low voice that even Steve couldn't quite make out. Fortunately or unfortunately, Loki ignored him. After a bit, the older brother moved to sit next to the younger, wrapping one arm around the unheeding shoulders and, it appeared to Steve, embarking on a story. Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably. Part of him thought he should go rather than just keep standing here awkwardly, but the other part was worried that Loki would suddenly snap and do something awful.

"Was there a particular reason _you_ came to see me this afternoon, Captain?" Loki's soft voice by his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin. When Steve looked in the direction the voice had come, though, there was no Loki there, not even an illusion. "Just the voice, I'm afraid. I don't want to distract Thor, or myself for that matter. I suggest you turn away a bit, so you can talk without looking like a buffoon should my brother look up."

Slowly, Steve turned to the wall and pretended to examine a quite striking painting done in all subtle shades of dark green. Then he looked closer at it. It was really beautiful actually, though Steve couldn't quite decide what it was. His eyes could pick out some indistinct forms, but it was almost like the painter had deliberately concealed the subject. The painting was set in a frame of the same spalted wood used in most of the furniture of the room. Steve had wondered about that when they had first been tidying the chamber several days ago. The spalting lent the furnishings a strange, chaotically fragmented appearance, which was far too eerily appropriate to the owner to be a chance selection. Had Loki deliberately sought to surround himself with some outward manifestation of his inner turmoil? It seemed odd for the obsessively secretive god to leave even subtle clues in the open where any passerby could see them.

"I'll tell you a secret no one else here knows, Captain, since you seem to like that painting so much. It is one of mine, of Jormungand in the depths of your seas. This is the only of my children's portraits I felt comfortable with displaying here in Asgard, since no one could easily tell what it was."

Steve could see it then, a massive serpent, distant, dim sunlight dappling his scales. "It's lovely, Loki."

"So, why?... Please don't let us repeat the fiasco of our last private conversation."

Steve grinned. "I'd rather not as well. There's no special reason I came today. I mean, we're all concerned about you still, but we thought it better to wait for you to summon us than to barge in on you every hour to make sure you're ok, since we aren't on Earth any more. Although I think Sarmit wants to start up your sessions again soon, if you don't object. We did think it would be better if someone accompanied Thor though, and I volunteered."

"I see. A wise precaution."

After a brief moment, Steve said, "I wonder what Dr. Sarmit will think of this." When Loki's voice failed to answer, Steve continued, "I mean, I'm sure she will be very interested and all. You two can observe your other selves together... but I wonder," he gestured to the Loki sitting with Thor across the room, "is it really good for you to, um, have quite this much division? Yes, you had multiple personalities already, but you never had multiple active at once... I hope you don't forget that you are also Loki while watching them."

"My mother said something similar to me once, Captain of America, before she knew anything of this, that using magic to live a fantasy could be dangerous, that I might lose track of reality. In a way, she was right, but not in the way she meant. I have been living in fantasy, and it has been undeniably damaging, but it has all come organically from my mind, not some magic I dreamed up. I certainly can't use my own magic to fool myself, just as you cannot write a secret to yourself and be surprised as you write it. I use illusions to trick others when it amuses me, but the success of such deception does not rely so much on the magic as on the minds involved. As for whether it is healthy now, the matter is moot, don't you think? It is _necessary_. Besides, that is as much their body as it is mine. It is agony to lack a mouth yet feel the need to speak. They deserve the right to be themselves, express themselves, even if I cannot grant them the right to be completely free... And I so envy the depth of Odinson's feeling-"

His wistful thoughts stopped almost mid-word, and Steve looked around despite himself. The room was exactly as it had been. Thor was still sitting on the floor with the other Loki, though he had stopped talking and was rather just holding his somewhat limp brother, looking sorry for himself. Loki, the real Loki, suddenly sat up straight. He shook off Thor's arm and stood, looking around with an expression of worry. Slowly, Thor stood up as well. "Loki?" he said with some trepidation.

"Something has happened," Loki said calmly. "We must find the Allfather and go to Heimdall." He made to leave, gesturing for them to follow.

Steve started after him, then doubled back for Thor, who just looked confused. When they caught up, Steve asked, "Loki, is this, you know, you?"

"All of me are me, but I take your meaning. Yes, I am the Prince Loki, if you will, taking control of my body again. I felt a dark disturbance, and I fear Thanos may be on the move."

"A disturbance in the Force, eh?"

"I'm afraid I'm not acquainted with the reference, Captain of America."

Steve had to laugh. "Ooh, that's great. I'll have to tell Tony." The Asgardians looked askance at him. "It's from Star Wars, a really famous epic space film that I missed when it first came out due to being frozen in the Arctic for 70 years. All the quotes people rattle off all the time at home went right over my head until Tony made me watch the whole thing - 6 movies - last year. He rented the largest screen in the city for the occasion. I bet aliens like you guys are just about the only people left who have walked on Earth and still don't know what the Force is."

"Fascinating," Loki said without amusement, although Thor chuckled.

Steve thought for a moment, following the princes through the maze-like palace. "They're surprisingly apt to real life, now I think about it. Your nasty Void magic thing sounds a lot like the Dark Side of the Force. And of course, 'fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering...'" Steve stopped as soon as he caught Loki's haunted look and wished he had kept his mouth shut. Why was _he_ spouting irrelevant popular culture? That was Tony's thing.

"Through here," Thor said gently, beckoning them towards a grand set of doors. It wasn't the throne room for a change, but rather the map room. Although, Steve thought as they walked in, to call it a map room was rather like calling the Metropolitan Opera House the music room. Steve stopped a few steps in to look around in wonder, while Thor strode on ahead. The room was unlike any other Steve had ever seen, here or on Earth. It was like stepping into a hologram of a miniaturized universe, with all the stars arrayed around them on the walls, floor, and ceiling. The image was zoomed in on a field of asteroids, and Odin was studying the array with a couple generals and a secretary with a mountain of books and, for some reason, a box of white stones.

"Allfather?" Loki called faintly from the door. Steve looked back to see the God of Mischief standing carefully on the threshold, leaning a little into the room while keeping a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe, eyes squeezed shut. _It must look exactly like the Void_ , Steve thought at once, and rushed back to Loki's side. He placed a strong hand on Loki's shoulder and managed not to wince when Loki's free hand seized his wrist and clamped down. Odin only looked up from his study when Thor reached him, and then father and son rushed to the door quickly.

"What is it, Loki?" Odin said, taking his son's other arm and leading the group into the hall. To Steve's immense surprise, Loki didn't even flinch, just looked relieved to turn his back on the map room. He was more afraid of the Void than of Odin, it seemed. Of course, he'd braved them both to come back here. Odin let go quickly enough, though.

"I felt a movement. In the Void. I didn't realize I was still so connected to even sense such a thing, but I fear it means our time is short. We must alert Heimdall and see if Thanos is moving. Even if the main body of the Chitauri are still in place, I can help direct his gaze to other likely avenues."

"Very well."

The four of them met Heimdall's messenger before they even made it out of the palace proper and hurried off to the Observatory without waiting for the young man to deliver his missive. When Heimdall himself greeted them all at his station overlooking the Bifrost, Steve noted his special interest in Loki, as if taking the Trickster's measure. It was clear the tall, dark-skinned god knew exactly what had transpired earlier in the prince's quarters. It was one thing to know the Gatekeeper was all-seeing; it was quite another to witness it.

"I felt something," Loki said abruptly, as soon as they were inside the building. "What have you seen, Heimdall?"

"The Chitauri fleet appears to be mobilizing, headed deeper into the asteroids in the general direction of the one called Hatistadir. Thanos seems to be working on a complex spell at his base still." Loki nodded in understanding, but Odin raised his eyebrows, looking from Heimdall to his son for an explanation.

"Why would they be headed away from us? Away from all the Realms?"

Heimdall looked to Loki; he didn't seem to know either. Loki smiled mirthlessly. "He's not. And I doubt the Chitauri are the only of his forces moving. May we borrow your eyes?" He held out his hands to Heimdall and, to Steve's surprise, Odin. Heimdall took his hand without hesitation, Odin a little more gingerly. A silver light passed between the three, and Steve wondered whose magic it was. As one, the gods looked out of the Observatory into the shifting mist spraying up from the falls thundering below, that cloaked the beginnings of the Bifrost.

They didn't speak, and Steve wondered how long they would all be stuck waiting. But then Thor clapped him on the shoulder and strode over to a table on the far wall. Curious, Steve followed. The Thunder God withdrew a tiny white cube from the folds of his cloak, which Steve realized was the same sort of stone as was kept in the Map Room. Steve watched as Thor inserted the cube into a receptacle on the table. He jumped when a three-dimensional, highly detailed model of the city of Asgard and the surrounding land and seas spread across the floor in front of them. He reached out and was unsurprised when his hand passed right through the thing. He looked at Thor. "That's handy."

Thor grinned. "I suspect we'll be needing it."

The two of them spent a couple minutes amusing themselves with the map while Loki and Odin were preoccupied with Heimdall. Steve discovered the image could be manipulated to provide a bird's eye view or move in for a close-up to individual buildings. He could read signs and see through windows and, ridiculously, count tree rings on a stump, if he wanted. And he could place markers for armed forces and planned defenses and so on. Thor demonstrated a basic battle simulation while they waited. Steve really wished there was such a versatile program back on Earth and fully intended to cajole Tony into working on something similar for the Avengers to use as soon as they returned home. It would have made WWII much easier to win, having this level of detail and portability...

Finally, there was movement by the Bifrost, and Steve looked around in time to see Loki dropping the others' hands and stepping back. All three looked rather grim. Heimdall immediately returned to his vigil while the other two strode over towards the map. Loki surreptitiously wiped his hands on his cloak as he moved to stand by Steve, keeping the human as a barrier between himself and his father and brother. He studied the map for a moment. Just as Odin turned to Thor, seemingly about to speak, Loki muttered, "Excuse us for a moment," and pulled Steve towards the door. One glare kept Thor from following. As soon as they were out the door, Loki slammed it shut and leaned against it, breathing deeply. The Captain watched him a little uneasily. He looked ready to bolt, tense, sweating, eyes wide, a muscle twitching in his temple. He looked to Steve. "I have an assignment for you," he said.

Without further ado, a much more composed magical copy peeled off of the real Loki, who stood up a little straighter with rather wild look in his eye. "Watch him," the copy commanded. He gestured, and the door opened enough for him to step back through, closing behind him. Steve wondered idly whether using the door was strictly necessary or just for show.

"Well, well," said the other Loki. Steve glanced at him then followed his gaze to see one of Heimdall's young messengers staring at them with an expression of astonishment. "I think you should forget what you just saw, lad. Otherwise, you might find your life considerably less comfortable in the near future. In fact, you might find yourself beset by snakes, rats, and other vermin. Nothing too unbearable, but certainly vexing for a young man such as yourself to put up with at all hours for the next hundred years." He turned to walk along the edge of the building, aiming for the bank of south-facing windows. "Come on, Captain of America," he called. "Let's see the show."

Steve glanced at the hapless messenger. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. There's no reason to get yourself in trouble with him." He hurried off to join the mad god creeping along the outer wall, crouched below the level of the windows. He wasn't sure why they were sneaking around, and suspected it was just because this particular Loki enjoyed being secretive. However, he was content to comply with his companion's demands, so long as they weren't too unreasonable. The guy deserved some liberty.

Cautiously, Steve and Loki peered over a deep windowsill to see Odin, Thor, and the illusory Loki standing around the Asgard projection. The other Loki was speaking as he manipulated the map, placing tiny lights all around the thing. "How did you think Thanos got me to Midgard? He didn't just launch me back into the Void, you know. The asteroids are riddled with tiny portals to other realms, most not large enough to cause too much trouble, but a few large enough to admit a Leviathan. I don't know where the one on, or perhaps near, Hatistadir leads, but I would wager Thanos has a course plotted through the more stable rifts to bring his army here. It probably goes through Svartalfheim. A lot of them do, for some reason."

Steve looked at the Loki crouching beside him in disbelief. "There are rifts between worlds?" He heard Thor asking exactly the same question of the other Loki inside.

"So that's how you managed to travel without the Bifrost in the past! I always wondered. Even you aren't that good with dark matter..." Thor finished.

"Why on Earth didn't you use one of those rather than open your own magical path and knock yourself out, then?" Steve whispered at the same time. The Loki beside him scowled as his counterpart inside smiled slightly at Thor, then he rolled his eyes and mimed retching before turning to look at Steve like he was an idiot.

"Most of the portals aren't constant. They shift around with the position of the planets, and it takes significant magical skill to pinpoint their locations precisely, even more to figure out where they go. I am not aware of any ever-present path between Asgard and Midgard, and certainly not one conveniently between New York and the Fortress of Bor. It would have taken days to navigate the portals I know, and I most surely would have been attacked before reaching Odin. I'll not comment on whether that would have been preferable to my current circumstances as a prisoner of my other self. Anyways, why do you think Thanos wanted the Tesseract? The portals are not large or reliable enough to use routinely if he were actually ruling _realms_." He looked back into the window, then shook his head. "This is too predictable, and therefore boring." He stood up and strode back towards the causeway leading into the city. Steve followed.

They walked in companionable silence along the bizarre walkway; it seemed to be cobbled with hexagonal black stones, but at the edge, these hexagons seemed to be more pillars sprouting quite naturally out of the sea which crashed on either side. Steve didn't bother wondering about it and allowed himself simply to enjoy the salt air and the sound of the waves on stone. After a moment, he had to ask, "Which one are you?"

Loki grinned toothily and adopted a dramatic stance. With a deep breath, he proclaimed loudly, "I am Loki! Of Asgard. And I am burdened with glorious purpose!" Steve winced, and Loki laughed. "Fear not, mortal, I have no intention of directing my ire against you at the moment. I merely intend to enjoy my freedom for a few glorious hours. Although I might run away if the chance arises..."

As soon as they were out of sight of the guards and messengers of the Observatory, Loki crouched down and scratched some sort of runic symbol on the pavement, knife flashing into his hand and back up his sleeve almost too quickly for Steve's eyes to follow. Then he got up and proceeded on his walk without comment.

"What was that?" Steve asked after a moment.

Loki made no answer except to backfist the Captain in the face. Steve fell backwards but managed to twist and roll to a kneeling position. He reached up to finger his tender nose, unsurprised to find it bleeding merrily. Then he looked up to see Loki sprinting away in the distance and forgot all about his injured face. He jumped up and took off after him. He was somewhat surprised to find himself gaining on the god, until he remembered his quarry still had lousy endurance. He caught up with Loki even before they reached the city and tackled him. They both rolled, and Steve recovered instantly into a fighting crouch, ready to defend against whatever manic attack the god might try, including daggers. Loki just stood straight and brushed himself off, though, before smiling humorlessly at him. "I guess I should have tried that a bit later. You're faster than you look."

Steve dropped his fists and wiped his nose, flicking the blood off his hands as best he could. His shirt was probably ruined. "Why?" His voice was thick and nasal.

Loki shrugged, then pulled an honest-to-goodness handkerchief from his sleeve and handed it to him. "Escape is what you do when you're under guard." While Steve cleaned himself and pinched his nose, the god crouched down and drew another symbol in the pavement. When he stood up again, he smiled wickedly. "Let's see how beneficent my other self is feeling today." Ever so delicately, he touched a fingertip to the end of Steve's nose. Steve froze in surprise as a green light instantly welled up and he felt his nose straighten and the swelling go down. Loki giggled and lowered his hand to Steve's chest. Nothing happened. Loki cocked his head to the side. "He's not going to do your laundry, apparently. A false friend, to saddle you with me and leave you to fend for yourself against a confirmed lunatic, don't you think? Give it here." He stepped back a little but held out his arm for Steve's shirt. When Steve failed to strip off the stained garment, Loki waggled his fingers insistently. When again Steve demurred, Loki sighed in exasperation. "Either I get to wash the shirt, or so help me, I am going to push you into the water and hold you there until you are clean, now hand it over!"

With some trepidation, Captain America complied. What did it matter? This was, he was reasonably sure, the Loki he was most familiar with, and he was well acquainted with the personality's weird moods.

Loki smiled broadly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" With that, he picked his way down to the water, knelt down, and scrubbed the cloth quite clean in a trice. He wrung it out then tossed the shirt back up with the comment, "Asgardian seawater: better than soap," and nimbly bounded back up the rocky slope. He eyed Steve critically for a moment. "You know, you're probably going to draw more stares with a wet shirt than a bloody shirt. You're almost as bad as Thor that way. Oh, well." He set off again back towards the city.

With a prayer for patience and a strange heat in his face, Steve pulled the sodden fabric over his head and hurried after Loki. Today was going to be trying. "How did you fix my nose if the other Loki is still controlling your magic?" He had his suspicions, but it was definitely safer to ask than guess.

"I didn't. He did. I just went through the requisite motions."

"So he can see what you see?"

"Of course he can. These are his eyes, too, you know. He's alert, therefore he can see and hear and feel."

"Does that go both ways? Are you watching the others at the Observatory right now, too? Isn't that disorienting?"

"Unfortunately, no. He has successfully locked me out of the magic, so I can't listen in. Not that I'd need to, given the mundane nature of that particular conversation." Steve wondered in what sense planning the likely biggest war of the past few millennia could be considered _mundane._ "I imagine it's a little surreal, carrying on two conversations at once, as it were, but he should cope so long as I don't manage to leave Asgard or otherwise distract him." He suddenly stepped close to Steve and ran a highly discomforting finger down his spine. "I can be very distracting..."

Steve reeled away, skin crawling, but managed not to tumble down the rocks into the sea. Loki guffawed. " _Must_ you aggravate me?" Steve sputtered at last.

"I have to do something to pass the time before I'm confined to quarters again by my kill-joy jailor. Straining your prudish sensibilities of a bygone era is moderately amusing."

Loki skipped ahead, then crouched again and scratched another symbol in the rock.

Steve decided to try again, but kept his distance this time. "What are those?"

"Insurance."

"...And what do they do?"

The Trickster quirked an eyebrow and gestured extravagantly. "BOOM!"

Steve stared at him. "You want to blow up the causeway?"

"Well, maybe. You never know that the future holds, but there is a war coming, you know. They'll probably be useful. If not, there's still the personal amusement."

"...Won't someone...your other self...try to stop you?"

"The mark can only be removed or used by someone who knows it is there and knows what they're doing, even if it erodes away. If I get control of the magic back, I suspect we'll be long past the point that he could do anything about it." His voice was matter-of-fact.

"Can't he just come along and remove them now?"

"He could, but he won't," the other said confidently.

"You sound pretty sure about that, but are you certain you're anticipating him correctly? You didn't even know about him until a couple weeks ago."

Loki snorted. "You humans, you think talking is the way you get to know people. We live in the same body, idiot. I don't have to meet him to know him. You saw him when we left the Observatory. He was the one with rapid heart-beat and shaking limbs, eyes wide, gasping for air, not me, though I admit I probably would have been too if I was sharing a room with Thor, Odin, and Heimdall."

"And holding hands," Steve commented.

Loki shuddered in disgust and tried to wipe his fingers on Steve's arm while Steve fended him off. "Even worse. Anyways, he needs an escape as much as I do. Right now, he's being Master Helpful, pointing out all the portals I know about, predicting the enemy's strategy, identifying the likeliest points of entry for what will be a multi-front invasion, offering up creative options for defense the Aesir are too stupid or lackadaisical to think up themselves... In short, he is doing his utmost to win Odin's little war for him and snuff out Thanos' inordinately long life, the latter of which goals I heartily applaud. But. As soon as things are wrapped up here to his satisfaction, his sense of duty appeased, we'll be gone. Count on it."

With that, they passed through the gates back into the city. Loki scratched a hasty symbol into a shadow of the wall of the portico, then lobbed a pebble at one of the guards. It bounced off the man's helmet and hit the other guard's right cheek, distracting both of them nicely. Loki pulled Steve up the street before either soldier could determine what exactly had happened. Steve despaired at the glint in the god's eye. They had a whole city to fill with magical land-mines, he guessed, and who knew how long to do it in. And no way to deter the madman from his task without grievously hindering Prince's war effort. So Steve just followed after LOA, determined to memorize the exact location of each of the supposed explosive sigils. He would inform Frigga later, and maybe some other capable magician could take care of it before Loki got a chance to appease his taste for pyromania.

 **Author's Note: Yes, I did just describe the Giants' Causeway in northern Ireland, a fascinating formation of columnar basalt. Trivia: Hatistadir translates to "Hati's home." Hati Hrothvitnisson is the wolf that chases the moon across the sky; there is no asteroid named for him that I know of, though, since we tend to give celestial bodies Latin names. There is, however, a moon of Saturn named for him as of 2007.**

 **PS: aren't obscure (read: obsolete) word forms lovely?**

 **PPS: I enjoy extremely oblique references to creepy short stories.**


	19. Chaos

**To each his own.**

 **If, for some unnatural reason, you are reading the nineteenth chapter of a fanfiction and are not familiar with the original source material, I kindly encourage you to google google google.**

The Horn of Bor sounded from on high, reverberating and magnifying throughout all of Asgard's myriad resonance towers until the entire city hummed with the doleful note. That was the signal to welcome Thanos' invasion. The Titan was poised to attack at any moment through a dozen different rifts, large and small. It was Odin and Frigga's hope, however, that the enemy forces would soon fall into the trap concocted chiefly by their younger son. Loki had devised a way to split the Bifrost beam, now that it was powered by the Tesseract rather than the ancient mechanisms of the Aesir. With the sounding of the Horn, Odin and Heimdall would be working together to send out narrow bridges towards the Chitauri and various other enemy groups to lure them all into attacking at one easily accessible but well-defensible point. The Bifrost itself would draw every target inexorably to the Observatory, barring active and skilled resistance by each individual in Thanos' army caught by the beams. Warriors with the uncommon but remarkably destructive powers of Thor, among others, would be waiting; they were far more useful against highly concentrated foes. Lesser members of Asgard's fighting forces captained by Sif and the Warriors Three would take care of stragglers coming through the far smaller rift openings, if all went according to plan. If not, Asgard's defenders would spread out and fight for every inch of land on a multi-front field, and send Thanos and his legions to Helheim the hard way.

Gradually with the fading of the horn, Frigga allowed herself to settle back down into a more meditative state, more conducive to magic use, and conjured up an image of the field as seen through the eyes of the bird Munin soaring over the battlements (Odin had transferred Munin's eyes to her, as leader of the reserves, earlier that day, though the spell would revert to the Allfather if anything happened to Huginn). She let the image float down in front of her, Loki, and the human doctor Janice Sarmit, and the three of them watched in silence, waiting. If things went poorly, Frigga's reserves of the young and old and untrained, and the moderately capable magicians still in the city, would enter the field. She was already wearing her battle-armor and would keep it until the war was over, one way or another. No matter what happened, the human doctor, no warrior by any stretch of the imagination, would stay hidden in the castle with the sick and the small children. The doctor lacked any protection beyond the simple shielding charms Loki had doled out several days previously to all his mortal associates. These would only protect her from ordinary magical attacks, unfortunately.

There was no telling what Loki might do, whether the war progressed well or ill. His skills were not a part of any battle plan, for he had professed a heart-breaking lack of confidence in his own capacity to help when the time came. It seemed the princely part of her son was meeting significant resistance to continued alliance with Asgard. Neither she nor Thor nor the humans nor even Odin had the heart to press him for more than he could easily give, and no one else in Asgard trusted him enough to try. Frigga hoped that if things went poorly, her lonely and tormented child would simply flee, and perhaps find some modicum of peace at least.

Frigga glimpsed movement within the mists screening the Observatory and guessed the battle would soon start in earnest. She found herself toying with Loki's hair and was pleased when he did not immediately pull away. This must still be the loving, though wrenchingly tentative, version that had first come to her receiving room this evening, even before the psychiatrist arrived, whispering his most treasured memories of the grandchildren she had never known. She had cried quietly with him for hours, learning all their names and mourning the little lives lost far too soon. If nothing else, she was grateful to have these moments with her son, at last.

Dr. Sarmit gasped, and all three of them leaned closer to Frigga's battle-field conjuration as a burst of Thor's lightning lit up the mists to reveal the first of the Chitauri's Leviathans penetrating within Asgard's hallowed wards via the Bifrost. The battle was begun.

* * *

Tony felt his stomach turn over as he watched the first of the Leviathans approaching along the Bifrost. His last encounter with the Chitauri had not been particularly agreeable, after all, despite their ultimate victory. But he didn't regret the fact that the Avengers had volunteered to fight for Asgard rather than go home at the last minute or hide in the keep. Steve was absolutely right when he had told the king that they would rather stop Thanos' rampage on Asgard, rather than Earth. At least they had had time in the past couple of years to study the remains of the Chitauri fleet left in New York, and Tony had a better idea of how to cripple their ships quickly. The jets in his suit activated, launching him toward the ponderous vessel at break-neck pace even as a blaze of lightning struck the Leviathan. Iron Man followed the Thunderer's strike with a quick blast of pure energy, jointly melting the forward command sector of the enormous ship. Individual Chitauri warriors flooded out of the breach like hornets from a disturbed nest, some leaping down to engage the Asgardian ground troops and some flying up towards Tony and the other air-bornes. Several of the slower, more unwieldy Asgardian fliers were soon struck, the flaming vessels careening wildly into the falls as their plummeting passengers intercepted and usurped Chitauri speeders or were picked up by other ships.

Tony jetted past the general carnage around him to intercept the next Leviathan coming through. He knew from experience it was better to keep them bunched up than to have to round up escapees.

He was flying low through the mist to avoid premature detection when something pulled him up short and slammed him into a rocky cliff. If Tony didn't know better, he would have said it was the Hulk taking a disliking to him. He suddenly hurt all over, and he looked around a little dazedly while his suit righted itself and lurched free of a crap-ton of gravel without his conscious guidance. He found himself face to face with an enormous... man... that seemed to be made entirely out of flame. Then the burning man grabbed him and slammed him into the cliff again. Correction: made out of red-hot rocks, and flame. Maybe he was fighting a lava demon; they probably existed. His opponent, whatever it was, grabbed his leg again and held it firm, deforming the tempered metal and even shorting out the protective electromagnetic fields. Instantly, the nerves in his calf started screaming; he could practically feel his skin blistering. Desperate, he shot a blast into the creature's face. This seemed to have zero effect, probably because it was already on fire. He couldn't think through the pain, but he had to get loose soon or he would be dead, fried to a crisp in his own suit. He lowered his head squarely towards the creature's chest and launched himself forward with as much power as he had. He slammed into the giant at speed, hard enough to topple it backwards into the mists, whereupon it released him and fell into the rushing waters below. A gout of steam rushed up to blind him, and Tony stayed in it for a moment to assess the damage to the suit and himself. The right ankle joint had fused in the attack and he probably had third degree burns on his lower leg. But he was alive, and still able to fight. And the suit's forcefields and environment seemed to be functioning again. Well, hopefully, being dunked in the ocean was lethal to whatever that thing was - a fire-giant maybe? Jets burned, and he rocketed up above the steam, above the melee, looking for a new opponent, preferably a less perilous one. He had a feeling he was going to regret refusing Loki's offer of a magical shield; he just hadn't wanted to risk it messing with the arc-reactor... Damn aliens. Damn magic. Damn fool of a Stark... Damn, that _hurt_.

* * *

Steve slammed his shield into the face of some sort of monster that vaguely resembled a goblin in one of Tony's video games. Then he dived into a roll to avoid an amorphous fireball that splattered all over the structure behind him and started to burn up the stone itself. He couldn't see where it came from, didn't know if it was magical or some sort of weird alien chemical, and didn't want to test Loki's wards to find out. He lobbed the shield at another wave of the goblin things, striking five in the head and one in the side of the knee, which _crunched_ rather sickeningly. All six fell to the ground, but there were twenty more headed his way, along with a number of Chitauri and a beast like a sinuous, scaly panther. Bright streams of sparkling magic zipped by. One passed straight through his leg and fizzled out, causing him to shiver but thankfully doing no damage; another struck an unlucky Asgardian fighting nearby. Her left arm froze solid and nearly broke off as she took a blow from a tall, obsidian-skinned humanoid with burning white eyes and seven-inch claws. Steve winced at the sight of her torn, bloodless muscle and sharp, protruding bone. "Jotun! Frost giant!" she screamed as she struggled to discard the heavy shield that still hung on her lifeless arm. Her opponent wasted no time finishing her off, ripping through her silver armor like cheese cloth. Steve hurled his shield at the monster's neck while the spearman Sturla stabbed it from the other side. It collapsed and dissolved into an oily substance that smoked and hissed as it drenched the dead Asgardian woman's skin. Grimly, Steve turned from the ghastly spectacle to ward off some more goblins, while keeping a wary eye out for anything blue lurking in the shadows of the cliff near the rift that might be a frost giant. There was nothing to be done for his fallen companion - Borthira, he remembered her name at last - but to fight harder and help win this war for her. He glanced at his perfectly unharmed leg and had to marvel at Loki's skill; there was no doubt in his mind that the "simple shielding spell" had saved his leg from being frozen solid as well.

Steve and the trio of Asgardian soldiers nearest him scrambled for cover as another fireball plummeted towards them from on high. It broke apart and scattered around as it hit, and the flames burned a bright, acid green behind them. Their outpost along the northern seaboard was now cut off from the city, the road itself entirely engulfed in the sinister, stone-eating fire. A nasty-looking smoke hung in heavy clouds over the inferno. There was a significant chance the fire would pin them against the cliff and kill them all, Steve thought. Then again, it would trap any invaders coming through the rift as well, unless they wanted to fly through the noxious smoke. If worse came to worst, he and the Asgardians would just have to take their chances going through the rift and taking the fight to the enemy.

He sent his shield to break the teeth of the panther-like thing bearing down on them and whirled back into the fight.

* * *

So much anger flying around him, so much joy. The Hulk grabbed a dark, angular, scurrying figure and snapped its neck with relish. This blanket destruction was a pleasure indeed.

With a snort of pure ecstasy, the Hulk jumped high in the air and smashed down on one of the enormous vessels invading along the bridge. The _Bifrost_ , the Little Man called it. And _Leviathan_ he named the vessel. The Hulk pounded one huge fist through a heavy bulkhead and plunged into the ship, plucking up and ending more of the scurrying creatures as he went. Why did such things need names, if they were only going to be destroyed anyhow? He burst through a wall and found himself facing the clanking jaws of a metallic monstrosity. An _engine_ , the Little Man would have called it. The Hulk grabbed a whirring, toothed disc and tore it free, causing the enemy to emit a ghastly, whistling shriek. He roared his approval and dove in, breaking metal bones and metal skins and metal joints, spilling blazing blue, chemical-smelling blood all over the floor... He was through the room and back in the corridors before he knew it, leaving only explosions and more mechanical shrieking in his wake. The Hulk jumped straight up and burst back through the thick, armored ceiling into the open air. He did not look back to assess the enemy ship; there were plenty of other fights headed his way.

A boulder broke against his shoulder like a wave on shingle-beach. He turned to see a new foe, man-shaped and muscular and almost as tall as he, skin gray and grainy, eyes dull as stone, face blank as a weathered cliff. It held out a hand, and dust and gravel flew to his palm to coalesce into another smooth, round boulder. This second missile broke against the Hulk's charging head. He seized this stoney giant in a wrestler's grip. The other giant was strong and hard and would not easily break. Its grip was as unyielding as granite. But Hulk was stronger. He pummeled it. He raised it into the air and cracked it over his knee, once, twice, then threw it into the soil and stomped. The gray giant uttered no sound and offered no look of hate or pain as it died, but die it did. It was gratifying. The Hulk grinned.

A fist like ten of the Thunder One's hammers slammed into the side of his head, disturbing his satisfaction. He lashed out at the newcomer, and his hand met horn and swords and fire, dancing at the edge of his grip. The Hulk took off in pursuit of the impudent mongrel; he grinned when it obligingly met him head on. This creature punched with the weight of a mountain, scratched and bit with dagger-fingers, rained tickling fire-brands down on his arms. The Hulk laughed; this pitiful magic slid off just like the Puny God's silly protective spells had. "Hit harder!" he encouraged the horned monster, and demonstrated with a powerful kick. His foot went right through his enemy's chest. The Hulk shook the corpse off his toes, looked up at the explosions in the sky overhead and howled in jubilation. He crouched down to jump forward as far as he could, landing hard on the Bifrost itself. He would have his pick of battles here. The Thunder One and the others with him could have whatever he discarded.

Suddenly, the Hulk saw something more interesting than any of the men and monsters he had yet sighted. It looked like one of the Thunder One's kin, built like a man, but tall and strong, with the scent of Asgard, and a look of utter madness in his eye. That was a look the Hulk knew well: anger, joy, ferocity, and anticipation. This man was a kindred spirit, another being that lived only to _smash_. The Hulk bounded towards this fascinating new foe and snatched for him. The Madman jerked away and lashed out even as the Hulk's fingers closed on empty air. He displayed ensorcelled knives and scored a deep scratch on the Hulk's chest. The Hulk bellowed his approval. Here was a man who knew how to _use_ his magic for its proper purpose: improved destruction. He swiped at The Madman, and The Madman grabbed his arm and bit his wrist, clinging to the Hulk by his teeth and kicking and punching and stabbing furiously. The Hulk shook him off, and bolted after him as he rolled back to his feet. He landed a hard punch on The Madman's leg, destroying the knee joint. The Madman howled in outrage but stood on one leg to continue the fight. He lunged forward to roll between Hulk's legs, swiping at and missing a meaty green-skinned thigh. As soon as he regained his stance, he jumped with his good leg and clung to the Hulk's back, securing his perch with his legs, both whole and injured, and stabbing for the great blood vessels in the Hulk's neck, screaming furiously all the while. Before The Madman could make good on his attack, however, the Hulk grabbed the man's broken leg and swung him down. Then he lifted the man and slammed him into the crystalline structure of the bridge. The knives skittered away from nerveless fingers, while The Madman attempted to kick his way free with his good leg. Truly, the Hulk admired The Madman's persistence, but this was getting tiresome. He slammed the man into the unforgiving Bifrost again and again and grinned when he felt the leg-bone snap and snag inside the muscle. He took off running back down the bridge towards Asgard and the Thunder One, dragging the screaming Madman behind him. He didn't want to lose this prize. He was far too much fun. As soon as the Observatory building came into view, the Hulk threw his still struggling opponent as hard as he could (which was pretty hard). The Madman's body punched straight through the walls, about ten feet of solid stone, to come to rest within the main hall of the Observatory. "HULK _SMASH_!"

Out of sight of the green-skinned giant, Heimdall made haste to behead the feebly twitching Berserker that had just crashed into their midst. He recognized it for what it was instantly and would not risk it getting up and attacking, no matter how thoroughly pulverized it looked. He then returned to his station at the head of the Bifrost, fending off Chitauri from the mechanisms of the great bridge and focusing the device's more destructive effects where it was needed most. He devoted a great portion of his sight to seeking signs of more Berserkers.

* * *

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as the Asgardian captain, Fandral, landed in their midst, with a hundred other spearmen behind him. The rift here was not the largest, but it was dangerously close to the city, and the draw of the Bifrost must be having only a minimal effect on the other side. Nat was good, but she had dispatched twenty opponents in twenty minutes, as had each surviving member of her platoon. The onslaught showed no signs of slowing down. Without reinforcements, they absolutely could not contain this particular rift.

Nat leveled the alien energy gun she had commandeered after some sort of magic-wielding dwarf had melted her preferred weapons into a puddle of hot iron. She shot twice and killed twice, then ducked under a blow from a rampaging troll. She almost tripped when a second beady-eyed dwarf cast a razor-wire net into her path but managed to sidestep straight into the path of a Frost Giant's spell, coincidentally saving the life of the Asgardian behind her. She glanced back to see it was Fandral. He wasn't even fighting, just staring towards the rift with an expression of shock and despair. She followed his gaze, wary of any attack, and saw a humanoid figure stalking forward with a predatory air. An explosion to their right lit up the newcomer's face. He looked eerily similar to Fandral, actually, though haggard and bedraggled... and silent. Nat's stomach fell into her boots, and she aimed the gun. If she was right, and this was Hoenir, the cousin of Fandral that Loki had mentioned to Odin and Frigga, then they were much worse-off than she had thought. She fired, but the impossibly quick berserker dodged the shot, a vicious grin spreading across his once-pleasing visage. He darted forward, eyes fixed on her.

"Stop! Hoenir!" Fandral pushed her aside and rushed to meet his cousin. Suddenly, he was involved in the fight of his life. Hoenir the Berserker struck with chilling speed and strength, wielding a crude sword like an extension of his arm but also lashing out with every limb he had, plus some minimal magical tom-foolery. Knowing his history, the desperation hidden in his movements would have moved her to sympathy if it didn't make him so dangerous. Fandral defended himself with incredible skill, but it was clear to anyone watching he couldn't keep this up for long. He had no time to go on the offensive and, Natasha suspected, no will to strike down the creature that had once been his cousin. His luck wouldn't last long.

The gun wouldn't help in this sort of fight; she'd probably hit Fandral. Natasha dropped the alien weapon and snatched up a long, serrated dagger from a fallen Asgardian. She hesitated just a moment, then lunged into the fight, aiming to keep Hoenir between her and Fandral. If they could keep him distracted between the two of them, they might have a chance. It was all she could do to fend off Hoenir's sword-strikes when they came. She was good enough to block each blow from sword, fist, and kick, but she was nowhere near strong enough to do more than ride each attack back to safe footing. But still, she may have prolonged Fandral's life with her hasty intervention. Hoenir seemed to have lost his early interest in her in favor of his cousin, but her needling at his back kept him from devoting his full powers against Fandral. The other Asgardians did their best to keep other marauders from Nat's and Fandral's backs, but there were too few of them to try to break into the dire duel they were defending. It would just be the three.

It couldn't last. Nat's foot came down in a puddle of blood and loose, skittering gravel. She was back on good footing soon enough, but Hoenir seized this chance to strike home on Fandral. The swordpoint darted in and out through the shoulder joint of his armor, and a spurt of blood escaped. Fandral's sword suddenly slipped from his grasp as his arm hung limp. Fandral quickly ducked the next blow and scooped up his blade again with his other hand, but both he and Natasha knew the tide had turned against them. Nat stabbed furiously at the berserker with her borrowed knife, but he fended her off almost without looking, intent on his wounded prey. He hacked fast and inelegantly at Fandral, neglecting any technique he might once have known in favor of bruising attrition. When this approached failed to produce results fast enough, he turned his back on Natasha entirely to kick and punch and stab at Fandral. Natasha plunged her knife into his back. He whipped around, jerking it out of her hands and backhanding her across the cheek before turning back to his cousin, heedless of the blood now running down his leg. Natasha flew into a tree trunk with the force of his blow and looked back just in time to see the end: Hoenir's jagged sword piercing clean through Fandral's abdomen, then abandoned so its master could tear at his cousin's handsome face. A curse or a poison on the blade degraded the flesh around it with frightening alacrity. Fandral groaned and coughed painfully but offered no further resistance. There was no way to get him the magical healing he would require to recover. He was as good as dead.

Natasha pulled herself to her feet and edged her way towards the gun again. She might have a chance to kill the berserker while he was distracted. But he sensed her moving, or lost interest in desecrating an almost-corpse. He looked right at her with eyes that used to hold a soul. Then he yanked his sword free, snatched up Fandral's as well, and bounded towards her. Natasha dived for the gun, knowing she would never reach it in time.

She was only saved because Lady Sif chose that moment to land directly atop the berserker, kicking him full-force in the temple before somersaulting to the ground and batting Fandral's weapon into the dirt in front of Natasha. Her face was a mask of anger and grief, but it changed in an instant to pure resolve as she took up a fighting stance and struck first. Natasha snatched up the sword and ran to join the fight again. This time, they would win, and the poor cousins would rest in peace together.

* * *

Clint took the controls of the large, open-deck flying yacht the Asgardians generously called a _sviffluga,_ or "glider," as Sif jumped down to help Nat and Fandral. Thank goodness the accomplished swordswoman had seen fit to show him how to fly this thing before the battle started, since he was the last of the team left in the damn thing. They had started out with about forty warriors, several of them other archers also tasked to shoot down any lone invaders that managed to slip by the outer defenses, the rest ready to shore up the defenses anywhere the enemy looked ready to break through. All of the others had joined in various skirmishes, except one struck by an energy blast that somehow blew him apart from the inside out. After a few hours of battle, Clint was starting to wonder if there was some unwritten rule among elite alien species that weapons to be used against individuals had to be especially gruesome. A lot of the Asgardian ones seemed to be just as bad as Thanos's minions,' not to mention the delight Thor, the Warriors Three, and even Odin (in their one brief encounter) seemed to take at imagining all the ways they wanted to punish Thanos. Loki never talked about it, and Clint certainly never asked, but _that_ one's general vindictiveness was already well-documented.

Hawkeye set the glider in a long arc that would take him across most of the battlefield and right over the smoking wreckage of the Observatory. He let go long enough to put an arrow through the eyes of the two Chitauri that flew up to meet him, smiling in satisfaction as the first's too-late lunge to avoid his shot carried it right in front of the second target. Always good to save ammunition, even with the enormous stockpile beside him. The day would be long.

He looked down and cursed under his breath. A band of what looked like frost giants was breaking through a line of Asgardian foot soldiers and sprinting for the city. He let go again, praying the glider wouldn't need him to pay attention for a few seconds and scooped up a fistful of fire-points. He fired them into the midst of the giants and managed to drop all five, temporarily at least. He doubted they would all stay down long, though. He grabbed the glowing bronze speaking stone hanging on the fancifully named tiller and shouted for Volstagg to see to them. Last he had seen, Volstagg had been plowing through a pile of Chitauri that didn't look like they should take the massive man more than ten minutes to finish off. He should be done by now.

Clint grabbed the tiller again, steering the glider back towards the action and took a moment to survey the field. It seemed to be going as well as could be expected but not as well as they'd hoped, unfortunately. The vast majority of the invasion force had in fact been drawn to the Observatory, where Thor, Tony, the Hulk, Odin, Heimdall, and a few dozen other powerful Asgardians Clint couldn't name were indulging in quite the blood-fest, backed by thousands of foot-soldiers. Maybe twenty smaller engagements were underway along the coast and canyons surrounding the city. All told, Asgard had put about 40,000 troops on the field. It wasn't enough. They were already outnumbered, and it was Clint's impression that less than half of Thanos' army had even arrived. Right now, they were holding their own, but they needed to crush each successive assault utterly if there were to be any hope of ultimate success. All things considered, Clint would rather not settle for - what was it called? A Pyrrhic Victory? Mutual devastation. En route back to the frost giant breech, he shot a concussive arrow into a fiery demon thing chasing Tony; they seemed to be the most effective against those creatures. The demons themselves seemed to be oddly attracted to Tony, or more likely the Iron Man suit. This was the fifth one he'd witnessed going after Iron Man.

He heard a roaring crackle behind him and took the glider into a sharp dive immediately, almost dropping his bow in his haste. A wad of black and purple fire arced overhead. He looked back to see where it came from. He caught a glimpse of putrid purple skin beneath a mass of garish gold and navy-blue armor atop a flying vessel even more ludicrous than his own, shaped like a giant chair. More of the purple and black firebombs were blasting free of the thing.

Well, maybe more than half of the enemy was through after all. Thanos certainly was.

* * *

Fires and other calamities threatened the entire coastline near the city, clearly demonstrating Thanos' appreciation of his slaves among the Children of Surtr, but Frigga and her companions were transfixed by the Titan himself now looming over the entrance to the damaged Observatory. He had emerged behind a flood of what Frigga guessed to be the magical wights Loki had described, creatures hurling mystical embers into their foes, heedless of any counterstrike, collapsing in an instant and reforming to attack again in the next. They were soon scattered throughout the Asgardian lines, sowing chaos as magicless warriors futilely attempted to shake them off while the life-hungry wights leeched at their flesh, and the scattered sorcerers sought to blast them away for good. Thanos himself descended to the field on a steel throne equipped like a war-chariot, raining down fiery, alchemical death on his enemies with no effort; he almost seemed bored with the proceedings. Even seated, he towered over her husband and first-born, who both rushed to confront him.

Frigga glanced at her second son then, born of her heart if not her body. He had been silent so far, and still as the grave, but this surely was the moment he most anticipated. If ever would he be moved to join the fight, it was now. He watched intently, and the queen thought she saw the slightest tremor pass through him. The psychiatrist seemed to notice it too, and shifted uneasily.

Without speaking, without taking his eyes from the spectacle before them, without so much as a warning, Loki's right hand closed tight around the littlest finger of his left and pulled back sharply, with a sickening _CRACK_. Both Frigga and the human shrieked, the raging battle suddenly forgotten. Loki flinched, but his right hand moved smoothly to the next finger, allowing the other to flop and curl to an unnatural angle. Sweat beaded on his brow as he slowly, threateningly, pulled back on his ring finger. His lip twitched as he glared into the conjuration.

" _Loki, my child, what by Yggdrasil and all the Lore of the Nine Realms do you think you are doing?"_

 **Author's Note: no more hedging, no more games. I decided we had enough leadup. This was an interesting change of pace to write.** **Mythology note: Surtr is sometimes called a fire demon or sometimes fire giant, a denizen of Muspelheim, the realm of fire, so the Children of Surtr in this story are fire giants, responsible both for the secrets of nasty alchemical fire and for tormenting our unfortunate friend Iron Man. Also making an appearance are Stone Giants and of course Frost Giants, plus some other monsters cannon and otherwise. As for Borthira and Sturla, neither are mythological, and Borthira isn't even a Norse name. Sturla is; Sturla Thortharson was the father of Snorri Sturluson, an important medieval Icelandic politician, and one of the greatest saga writers and poets, responsible for the _Prose Edda_ and _Heimskringla._**

 **My vacation is over, and the next two chapters are not written, but take comfort in the fact that I know what happens in them.**


	20. Hostility

**Meh ownership.**

Thor and Odin rose to face the titan as one. This was the battle they both yearned for, and it was high time for the Mad Titan to learn how wrong he was to threaten Asgard, and how wrong he was to hurt the brother of Thor.

The Mad Titan grinned, face splitting ghoulishly. "Well met, Allfather," he said mockingly. "Would you like to die before or after your sons and the rest of your people?"

"If I die today, it will be laughing over your corpse, butchering kinslayer." Odin slammed Gungnir into the floor of the Observatory, sending out a visible shock wave that flattened a whole company of Chitauri but didn't even ruffle the titan.

Thor swung his hammer and sent a lightning bolt into Thanos' face. Thanos' grin became wide, fixed, and pained, but he chuckled as he recovered. "Your cub has more bite than you, Battle Wolf. You are getting old. You've taken and discarded endless names, but some you've shirked too long will be coming home to roost today, Long Beard, God of Prisoners, and Gallows' Burden. What, do you reject the epithets of your youth, old man?"

Odin smiled thinly. "If you think those are insults, you are sorely mistaken. I earned them all and still claim them. I hear you'd like to stake out another of my titles, 'Overthrower,' but I'm afraid it's not on offer. Might I suggest 'Twice-Blind' instead?" He conjured a pair of red-hot throwing stars on the tips of his fingers and spun them towards Thanos' eyes. There was no way for the Titan to dodge with his throne about as maneuverable as a Midgardian tank, so he raised a hand to produce a gleaming shield instead. The stars bounced into the dust at his feet. Thor and Odin however were both already on the attack again, Thor whirling his hammer in preparation for a more powerful assault, and Odin bounding forward with his spear ready to strike.

Thor smiled as electric charges gathered in the air around him and watched his father with pride. It had been too long since the Allfather had shown his full strength. Together, they would avenge Loki's torture and take this cretin down.

* * *

" _Loki, my child, what by Yggdrasil and all the Lore of the Nine Realms do you think you are doing?"_ Frigga screamed.

Loki ignored her, still intent on the spectacle. "If someone doesn't do something soon, Asgard shall suffer losses it cannot recover," he said softly. Frigga stared at him, trying to regather her suddenly frazzled thoughts. Was he telling her to call up the reserves? She hadn't thought it time, yet. He barred his teeth. "Come now, arrogant, soul-silencing son-of-a-bitch, speak to me. We've got nine more to go. You may not care about that, but you don't need any more distractions than you already have." He pulled back a little harder on his own ring finger.

"Why are you doing this? You want him dead, so let me finish him! Then you can run!" The voice came from empty air, and Frigga realized two different versions of her son were talking to each other, one with his corporeal voice and one with magic.

"I want him _punished_. You want to save the worthless royals."

"It comes to the same thing."

"It does not. I want _them_ punished as well, and I don't care one whit about running." He viciously snapped back on his finger and moved to the next. His hand was starting to swell. Frigga bit her tongue but didn't dare intervene in what had to be the most bizarre hostage situation she could ever have imagined. "No tricks now, principled sneak. I am willing to negotiate."

The disembodied voice was silent for a time. "I misjudged you."

"Profound and visceral hatred, you said, and fixated on betrayal. Vengeful. A 'sense of personal justice.' Your words were apt. I think we understand one another well enough, though I've never since my beginning had a conversation even this long for you to listen in on. Well done."

"LOJ?" Dr. Sarmit breathed, wide-eyed and surprisingly fearful, considering her normally dauntless attitude.

Loki glanced at the human disinterestedly but smirked. "Or 'Monster,' if you prefer. Equally accurate."

"What do you want?" asked the disembodied Scholar-Prince.

"Come now, friend, show your face, that we may be sure to see eye-to-eye." After a moment, a face did, in fact, appear. Just Loki's face, looking very displeased. "Your pathetic attempts at noncompliance do not bother me, my prince," LOJ said.

"Time is wasting. What do you want?"

" _Your_ time is wasting. All I want is my vengeance. I am perfectly content to let Thanos take care of the Asgardians before I confront him - "

The illusory Loki's eyes widened in frantic disbelief, and another finger snapped, causing both faces to wince. Frigga guessed _Prince_ Loki had tried to snatch back control of the body or do something magical; tricky spells needed intense concentration and could be foiled by sudden... distraction.

"- _if_ you fail to agree to my terms."

"Breaking fingers won't stop me forever. We have a _very high pain tolerance._ You _know_ I can work around it." He sounded furious, and puzzled.

LOJ looked straight at Frigga, expression calculating and grim. "Oh, I know. Believe me, I do. This is hurting _her_ a lot more than it's hurting you or me. Let me assure you, I have no qualms about sharing a few of the stories you've been deliberately holding back. Showing. Reliving. Reveling. Doesn't this kind, caring, misguided, and nightmarishly incompetent mother deserve the pain of seeing her child visibly suffer?"

Frigga's heart was pounding, and it felt like she couldn't breathe. She didn't trust her own ears. Loki was sitting with her quite calmly threatening to torture himself in order to get back at her and his father. She looked over at the psychiatrist, hoping for some glimmer of reassurance. She was crushed to see that Dr. Sarmit was... resigned. She wasn't surprised at all by the direction of Loki's thoughts, just disappointed. Frigga forced herself to breathe and dammed up the wave of despair threatening to drown her. Asgard in this moment needed her as its queen, no matter how much she wanted to turn aside and just be a mother. She could think of nothing to say. She forced her attention back to what Munin was showing her, trying to gauge if she _did_ need to summon the reserves, but she didn't close off her ears to the other war happening right next to her.

Loki's beautiful, illusory face regarded his treacherous body mistrustingly but seemed to give in. "I'm listening," he said.

* * *

The lightning Thor conjured vaporized the copious caustic chemicals spewing forth from Thanos' throne. This was possibly not a good thing, as the fumes settled into a cloying, noxious cloud that stung Thor's eyes but that Thanos breathed in contentedly like a lady's perfume. On the other hand, the lightning also destroyed a number of the vile, grit-formed wights gnawing painfully at his ankles and shoving tiny, earthen, magic-pronged fingers into his shins in their efforts to pull him to the ground. Several bolts also hit Thanos himself at just the proper moment to prevent the titan from parrying Odin's next thrust with Gungnir. The long spear-point pierced the titan's armor high in the left shoulder, and the Allfather grunted in satisfaction. Thanos didn't seem to mind being stabbed, though. He thrust out his left hand, completely heedless of the foot of metal in his flesh - _the impudent wretch was showing off!_ A ball of violet-tinged power burst from his palm and exploded in Odin's face, blowing him backwards. Odin landed on his feet and raised his own hand. The spear flew back to him, and Thor watched in mounting frustration as the titan's flesh knitted itself back together instantly, though the armor overlaying it remained punctured with an impressive dent. The armor might just be for show, come to think of it, if Loki was right about Thanos' genuine physical invulnerability. If that was the case, they would inevitably lose. But Thor was sure that was not the case. Together, the chieftains of Asgard _would_ win.

"As you can see, I will not be killed by the likes of you," Thanos declared.

Odin shrugged, eye brighter than ever, clearly lusting for the fight even more. "The trial and error will be entertaining. I will certainly enjoy _hurting_ you as much as possible while discovering the means to your end. I can assure you, I have a lot of ideas already as to what we might try to cure your unfortunate immortality. You are a blight on the very air, Thanos. All the souls you have killed, the spirit of your entire slaughtered race, will bless my blade and rejoice to see the conclusion of your great genocide." He pointed his spear at Thanos, using the shaft of mystical metal to focus all the power he wielded as the king of Asgard. A beam of pure, white light blazed straight and true towards Thanos' heart. The titan constructed another magical shield to divert the attack, and the beam broke up into a shower of stars that burned clean through the flying, armored throne where they struck. Soon, Thanos' chair resembled nothing so much as an avant garde sculpture carved from the moldering Swiss cheese kept in the back of the refrigerator of Lady Jane. Thor laughed aloud at the thought, exhilarated by his father's success. Although the contraption was still flying, it was no longer producing the dangerous globes of black and purple flame. He lobbed his hammer in Thanos' general direction. He was disappointed when it bounced off the mangled chair with barely a dent.

Thanos glowered at the pair of them, then began flinging curses with reckless abandon, his sly grin returning. Using Gungnir, Odin parried any of these that reached him with ease. Thor whirred his hammer before himself to produce something of a shield; he was no expert in free-form spells. They couldn't win this way, though, just blocking. The deflected curses were also a danger to everyone fighting nearby, friend and foe alike. Decisively, Thor spun, using the momentum built up in Mjolnir's swinging to launch the weapon with the speed and inertia of a meteorite. Faster than Thor would have believed possible, Thanos created a shadowy fist of pure magic to deflect the projectile. Mjolnir flew to the side then curved back around towards Thor's waiting hand. Thanos produced a long chain hanging from the side of his chair and lashed it out at them. It caught Odin before he could block it and threw the Allfather into Mjolnir's trajectory. The Hammer of Thor struck the king of Asgard in the middle of his back, driving him into the ground before flying to Thor's shocked fingers. He almost dropped the dratted thing.

"Father!"

More curses and another whip of the chain sprang from Thanos' direction, but Thor heeded neither. Loki would undoubtedly have called him an idiot at that moment, but he trusted his own strength to withstand them both. He was too angry to die. Without even looking, he sent a spray of lightning at the titan, enough to illuminate the entire plain of battle despite the thick smoke clogging the air. The curses stopped. He ran towards the Allfather's prone form and jumped over the burning wreckage of a Chitauri speeder that fell into his path. He cried out in relief as his father climbed stiffly to his feet, leaned on Gungnir for a moment, then stretched his back with audible _pops_. It suddenly struck Thor how very old the king was. Terribly old for an Asgardian. He'd been fighting for _more_ than 5,000 years! Most would have died in their sleep centuries ago.

"I don't recall you hitting that hard before, Thor," he muttered. Then he smiled. "And I'd certainly like to see how this blood-thirsty guttersnipe handles a direct blow from your Mjolnir if he can't counter it." He flung a careless spell and raised his spear anew.

Thanos stood up and parried the charm onto his throne, which burst into pieces. Thanos grinned, dropped his chain, and pried up a long metal shard that shaped itself into a battle-staff longer than Gungnir, tipped on both ends with spiked knobs. With a gesture, more fragments shaped themselves into short blades and affixed themselves to his boots, knees, elbows, and fists, all the armor joints that themselves made good weapons. He strode out to meet them, twirling the staff with dexterity. "Shall we settle this?"

What followed was like no battle Thor had ever fought before. Thanos was _fast_. There was no time for him to gather the storms for his more powerful techniques. He was mostly fighting with magicless hand-to-hand combat, though his burgeoning rage certainly called in plenty of uncontrolled lightning strikes. He pounded Thanos as hard as he could with Mjolnir, but though the wretched staff would bend and break, it quickly repaired itself according to the will of its master, and Thor couldn't manage to drive past the titan's guard to hit flesh.

Odin was similarly frustrated. With Gungnir, he could easily parry any strike without bearing the shock of the blow, but his magical prowess was severely hampered when forced to use the spear in close-quarters. Gungnir, same as Mjolnir, was forged from a rare metal that made it an excellent conductor of magical power and allowed the Allfather to focus massive amounts of energy that would burn out lesser beings and lesser materials. This required room to maneuver, unfortunately. As it was, Odin was clearly hard-pressed to ward off Thanos' staff while using more conventional magic to divert the titan's ubiquitous curses and firebolts. Thor wished he could help with that, but he hadn't the skill.

Suddenly, Thanos launched some sort of spell that pelted what looked like obsidian shards straight at Thor's face. The rest of the world fell away as his focus narrowed to these sigils of impending doom. They weren't obsidian. They were death-stones, crystals that took days to carefully create using the most evil of magics. Once activated, they relentlessly burrowed into anything, animate or inanimate, that they touched, seeking vital structures with a malevolent intelligence. They exploded with incredible force as soon as they reached something worth destroying. Any Asgardian worth his weapon could recognize them on sight, and Asgard had criminalized their production throughout the Nine Realms. Being struck by just a single stone was generally sufficient to instantly kill any creature of the Nine Realms, and often his neighbors. And for some reason, staring at these little deaths, Thor felt about as mobile as tar on a cold day. He wasn't going to dodge in time.

Before the death-stones could hit, Odin lunged forward, plucking his hand-axe from his belt and knocking the stones into the ground. He dropped the axe immediately, and Thor could instantly see why. One of the stones was stuck to the axe head. It seemed to dissolve into liquid as it disappeared inside the weapon even as the other stones burrowed into the mosaic tiles around them. Thor scrambled for cover, his father close behind him. Thanos contented himself with stepping backwards and raising a magical shield, a lazy grin flirting about his teeth. Thor shouted a warning to Heimdall and the others still engaged in their own battles nearby. The axe exploded first, sending glowing shards of _uru_ , the same metal used to make Gungnir, flying in all directions. Thor heard shards bouncing off Thanos' shield. Then the shock wave bowled him over, and he flinched as a sharp fragment drove hard into the rock by his hand. His heart skipped a beat when he heard a grunt of pain from the Allfather. He looked back to see his father clutching at a bloody and steaming wound on his leg. Alas that there was no time to fish around in the torn muscle for the burning fragment. He reached out and pulled Odin behind him, then started spinning Mjolnir to deflect shrapnel from the next explosion, guarding their hasty retreat.

This one was massive, originating in the foundation stones. The floor erupted into a gout of fire and deadly debris in a forty-foot radius, over half the width of the great hall of the Observatory, not that there was much left of the room in the first place. Thor and Odin continued to back away from the crater. Another explosion, and more stone took to the air while the floor caved in even further. A third. A fourth. There was now a deep pit where the floor had been. Thor's ears were ringing, but he could hear a low-pitched laugh, the sound growing and echoing and mingling with the tumult of the battle and the screams of those hurt by the blasts. Thanos' face was gleeful, eyes wide and shining in delight, head thrown back, reveling in the destruction. A fifth explosion actually disrupted the faultline in the bedrock of the Observatory, triggering a lengthy earthquake that toppled the few remaining walls of the Observatory and probably extended well into the continent. With a curse, Thor slammed Mjolnir into the stones and braced himself. Hopefully, any other death-stones were now so far down very little debris would reach them. Even Thor couldn't keep his feet, dropping to one knee on the writhing earth. A crack opened in the depths of the pit, stretching about a foot wide before slamming shut again with another heaving shock. Thor hoped the tremor didn't disturb the active island volcano to the east, but quickly pushed the thought away. There wasn't anything to do about that if it did happen. The laugh grew even louder and crackled and roared like an avalanche. Thor thought Thanos' joy could be heard as far away as the city.

The sixth explosion was the worst. The final death-stone had found the mechanisms buried and sealed beneath the seaward part of the Observatory which governed the Bifrost itself. The world lit up blue as light from the Tesseract burned brighter than the noon sun overhead, then went out as the Bifrost shut off. No more attackers would enter here, and all the defenders at the rifts were soon to be overwhelmed with fresh invaders. Thanos stood alone on the far side of the pit, apparently unharmed.

"Heimdall! Take the others and see to the breeches!" Odin shouted, then slammed Gungnir into the ground again, a shock wave leveling his enemies for a second time. Thanos would soon be the only danger left here at the Observatory. Thor, Odin, and the Mad Titan would finish their duel alone. Thor glanced uneasily at his father as they both raised their weapons, ready to recommence. Sweat beaded on the king's face, and blood still trickled from the wound in his thigh. A blow from _uru_ did not quickly heal, and would not so long as the metal was still inside. Thor swung Mjolnir with new determination. This was mostly his fight now.

* * *

"I absolutely want you to kill Thanos," LOJ said conversationally. "I also want Odin's head on a spike and his body prepared into a sinful feast for his whole sorry court, but I actually want Thanos dead more than I want that. I am also willing to admit that your chances of destroying Thanos are better if Thor and the Allfather are still alive to back you up. They are also infinitely better if you don't have to fight off the rest of us at the same time. I know the one you and the humans named LOA in particular is giving you trouble. He's not assailing me for our body at all, he's so desperate to wrest the magic away from _you_."

"Cut to the chase. What do you propose?" Frigga worried at the illusory Loki's abrupt tone, while her heart constricted to hear the other's venomous disdain. The gentler one was negotiating from a position of weakness.

"Quite simply, I will agree to keep our other selves in check for you so you can cast spells unhindered and destroy Thanos. In return, you'll let me do exactly what I please with this body afterwards, no questions, no resistance."

"And you will immediately raise our hand against my father and brother. Absolutely not."

Loki snapped another finger backwards. "Not so hasty, friend. Think about what I'm offering." This conversation was interrupted by a deafening explosion outside.

Frigga, Sarmit, and both Loki faces turned back to the battle. Something was happening at the Observatory. Munin flew in closer, and Frigga gasped to see her husband plainly limping as he withdrew behind Thor, both of them clearly braced for another explosion. With another series of detonations, a plume of dust and debris obscured their view momentarily, and a mighty tremor passed through the castle. There was another blast, and the raven's entire view vanished in a burst of blinding blue light. Even though the queen's chambers faced away from the distant battle, Frigga saw the same blue filtering through the windows out of the corner of her eye. As Munin's eyes recovered, it was clear that the Bifrost was no more. Frigga snatched up her speaking stone and ordered the reserves to muster at the gates and man the walls, promising herself she would be out there soon enough, whether Loki had decided his next course of action or not.

LOJ started to laugh. "Isn't my proposal becoming ever more generous? I'll even promise to be quick about my business, unlike the Mad Titan down there. If we don't do something, a lot more people will die than just the schemer and the simpleton you care so much about. Are two lives worth the whole planet to you? Such nobility of spirit! So artlessly direct! So stupidly uncompromising! No wonder Mjolnir likes you so much."

Frigga couldn't listen to this any more, and shouldn't tarry in any case. She stood up, drew her sword, and cast aside the scabbard. It would be more of a hindrance than a convenience in the next hours. "Loki, my child. I love you, and I wish I could counsel you - both of you - but I think this is something you will have to resolve on your own. Only you can know your heart. I will do my best to come to terms with whatever decision you make, but please make it quickly, or all will be lost." She turned to the door, but one of the Lokis called her back. She turned to see that the illusion had grown more complete. Prince Loki was now standing before her, hand outstretched. She waited.

"I... You know I don't want this, but I have no choice." He bowed his head. "For me, Asgard comes before all else, even our family, even, I think, if- if Njalli was here... I hope you can forgive me, Mother."

She knew exactly what he meant, and it brought her no joy. She and Odin had cited the same guiding principle to reach their current crisis. Unfortunately, now was not the time for either of them to set the cares of the crown aside. "If it helps, I would have made the same choice, darling. Do what you must. I'll wait to see you off."

Prince turned and crouched before LOJ, who made no attempt to hide his eagerness. "You will work _with_ me to handle Thanos. Don't interfere with my work, but otherwise do anything you like to him. I certainly don't care so long as he ends up dead and gone. I think you know what I'm planning."

"I do. Your scholarly tendency to leave your mind an open book for the rest of us to read is half your problem here."

" _Afterwards_ , you will have until I've done what else I can to rein in his legions to do what you will, and if I need any assistance from you, then on the names of my sons and daughters, you had better give it."

"Granted. Take your time."

"Oh, I swear, I will be quick as a forest fire driven by a windstorm after seven years of drought."

"Good enough." LOJ stood, and Prince vanished. Loki studied the battlefield a moment longer, the bird's-eye view now focusing on a new influx of invaders along the coast and approaching the city. Then he looked up into empty space, ready to teleport, Frigga guessed.

"Loki, wait." He turned to her.

"The wheel turns, my queen. Do you really want your poor husband to die _before_ he sees his enemy vanquished?"

"I have no wish to delay you, and I must go as well. But, I pray you will agree to look kindly on Thor. Whatever you may think of Odin and myself, Thor's only sin in all of this is ignorance."

Loki smiled bitterly. "Your words do not surprise me. Your tone does. You agree that you and the king are guilty."

It would be sensible to deny the allegation; she said nothing. He didn't deserve any more deceptions from her.

Loki held out his mangled left hand to her. "If you would, foul queen. It's the least you can do. Thor will be safe from me, for the time being." Wordlessly, she took his fingers, and willed the bones to mend. "And for that, you may keep your head as well, for now." He dropped his hand and again prepared to go.

"I would also like to say something," the psychiatrist said from her seat on the floor cushions.

"What is it?" His voice was tinged with exasperation, but not anger. Apparently, this Loki held no grudge against the doctor, at least not yet.

"You may be willing to destroy yourself to take your revenge, but there are others in there who still want to live even now. Your anger is hot and biting, now, but once satisfied, I suspect it will burn out. The anger in the others is cold and slow, and confused with their other emotions that you're ignoring. A lot of them still love Asgard, still love your parents, still love Thor. If you take away their chance to come to terms with what has happened to Loki as a whole, their chance to really confront Odin and Frigga and everyone here, they will turn on you eventually. You might not care about that now, but please, consider their needs. They are your needs, too, after all."

"You try my patience."

"But you know I'm right."

He raised one eyebrow. "You are the expert in these things." He grinned wolfishly and grabbed Frigga's arm. "Well, for all the others, then." He planted a long, uncomfortable kiss on the queen's hand before disappearing in a plume of green flame.

Frigga smiled weakly after him, tears flowing, and gestured to the spot where he had stood. "He's recovered so well. He used to transport like that all the time." Sarmit patted her foot, looking very worried and rather at a loss. Frigga felt the same. Just because they probably couldn't do much about it didn't mean either was particularly comfortable with the thought of what LOJ might have planned for his father, brother, herself, and the rest of Asgard. The queen sighed, scooped up her helmet, and let the illusory battlefield lapse at last, though the image still resided in her mind of course. "I advise you to seek out Lady Eir, doctor. I am going to the walls."

* * *

Apparently there were only seven death-stones, this time, for Thanos jumped across the pit between them as soon as the Tesseract's light faded. He struck hard and fast, with Thor only barely raising his arm in time to catch the staff on his bracer. He aimed Mjolnir at the titan's hip, but the enemy dodged away. Odin emerged beside him in an unstable stance and thrust his spear forward. Thanos veered around that as well, but an undirected lightning strike arced down to meet him, causing his leg to spasm and turn him off-balance. Odin slashed at him, and sent more hot throwing stars in his direction. These struck true and passed through, but the wounds sealed up behind them. Frustrated, Thor stepped in close and swung Mjolnir up from below. Thanos was thrown backwards, landing heavily on the loose slopes of the pit. He skidded for a moment then launched himself skyward. Odin was ready for this and conjured up a loose net of magical energy directly into Thanos' path that would collapse and tighten as soon as it was touched. With a swipe of his hand, Thanos summoned a gale to whip up loose stones and sweep the net aside. With a look of malice, he suddenly vanished. Thor didn't know if he had teleported or was merely invisible. Odin loosed a wide-flaring fire spell in the general direction he should have been to no effect. The two of them looked around warily while the king took the opportunity to dig gingerly for the metal shard in his thigh.

"Huginn doesn't see him either?" Thor asked.

"No. I expect he will show himself shortly. If not, I'll seek him out with scrying spells. It won't be hard."

"It won't be needed." Thanos' voice echoed all around them, and he appeared suddenly out of the haze directly behind Odin. He slammed his staff into the Allfather's back where Mjolnir had hit before, then grabbed hold of the aging god with one arm, turned them both to put Odin between himself and Thor, and stabbed viciously with his other fist-knife, the short blade slipping in and out of the armor joint near the base of the neck, then under the shoulder, then behind the knees. He stabbed Odin's neck again and twisted the knife, releasing a horrifying spray of red heart's blood. He whispered some taunt in the Allfather's ear before letting him fall, then took up his staff again to face Thor.

Thor was in shock, but forced his body back into motion. Odin was of the Aesir, with more than the usual regenerative capacities. He would recover from such wounds. It would just take a little time, and Thor would have to prevent Thanos from doing anything more drastic until then. He felt the fear in his heart crystallize into a cold resolve. Thanos had gotten this far because of dishonorable tactics and cheap tricks. But Thor had grown up with Loki, of all people, the Trickster himself. He had long since refused to be distracted by such things during battle, and he had faith, despite Loki's warnings, this was still a fight that could be won through strength of arms if only he tried hard enough.

Thor swung his hammer with determination, each strike hard, true, and inexorable as the movements of the stars. At the same time, he focused his concentration and summoned a stronger storm. The small, minimalist thunderheads scattered above them circled closer together, gradually merging into a dark column of cloud that eclipsed the sun over the Observatory, sending them into an unnatural twilight. All the while, Thor and Thanos exchanged strike and counterstrike, with shocking speed but strangely mechanical regularity. Thanos clearly wished to break the pattern, but each time he tried a different tack with his staff, Mjolnir beat him back into rhythm. Each time he sneaked an extra kick, it met nothing but air. Each time he cast another curse, Mjolnir blocked it or Thor simply suffered through the pain, the mental shrieks, the burns without giving way. They were fighting in a driving rain now that made all the fire spells sputter out in seconds anyways. The electrical currents above them reached their peak, and Thor opened himself to the storm, channeling all that stored energy down through the sky, skittering over his skin and through his bones, into his hand, into Mjolnir, into Thanos. The titan was transfixed, paralyzed by the devastating power coursing through him. Sparks leapt from plate to plate on his armor rather prettily, Thor thought with satisfaction. The blast continued for many moments, but as soon as Thor felt the current begin to wane, he severed the connection and instead hit the titan's head as hard as he could. Thanos tumbled down into the pit and lay there for a moment, before rolling to a kneeling position.

"I thank you for that blow, Thunderer." He grinned and cracked his neck to the side. "I haven't felt so alive in _centuriesss_." Thor rolled his eyes at the hiss, finally understanding what Loki (and the Avengers) meant when his younger brother accused him of being melodramatic.

"Don't worry. You won't have to get used to it." He raised Mjolnir and jumped down after his enemy, only a little disappointed that his victory would happen in a dirty hole where no one, not even his father up above, would be able to enjoy it.

Thanos caught his wrist as he swung and slammed the prince to the ground with burning hands, quickly moving to pin him down in the full foot of water presently covering the bottom of the pit. It was salt, seeping in through the damaged bedrock, not just collecting in the rain. Thor struggled to throw the titan off but couldn't. Thanos raised up the Thunderer's wrist and snapped down over a boulder, which cracked, though his arm bones held firm. He maintained his grip on Mjolnir. Thor tried to gather some latent energy into the hammer but was distracted when Thanos' grip twisted and slammed his wrist into the boulder again. This time, he managed to come down on a nerve, and his hand sprang open reflexively, dropping the hammer on the other side of the abominable rock.

"You know, your brother said you were stupid, when he was a guest in my tender care. He was right," Thanos purred. He let go with one hand and opened his palm. His staff flew to him, then reshaped itself into the long, rectangular blade of an executioner's sword. He placed one steel-booted foot on Thor's chest, then stood, readying himself to swing. Thor punched at the Titan's knee, but he was at a terrible angle to make any sort of impact on the brute.

Thor closed his eyes and willed Mjolnir to him. It didn't come, and when he craned his neck out of the water, he saw that Thanos was actually trapping it down with his other foot and some sort of roiling dark purple chains anchored in the ground, glimmering sinisterly with each ripple that passed over them.

"Goodbye, Son of Odin."

The killing blow never came. Thanos' weight shifted on his chest. Thor looked up from his hammer to see his great enemy standing stock still exactly as he had been, staring cautiously at another man on Thor's other side. It was Loki, smiling silently, outstretched arm buried up over the elbow inside Thanos' torso, eyes locked on Thanos' face.

"Good afternoon. Fancy meeting you here! It's not everyday a misshapen mauve tyrant shows up just in time for me to _pluck his beating heart out before his very eyes and FEED IT TO THE RAVENS!"_ Loki said, voice rising from pleasant palaver to a venomous shout that made the inside of Thor's ears quiver.

 **Author's Note: And now, the end is near. Soon, we face the final curtain. But not yet. I'm tired and don't have any trivia for you, but I'm excited to be working on the upcoming chapter. It's a doozy. I also happen to be stuck in a hotel with nothing better to do than work on it, so cheers. Incidentally, the name of the next chapter is "Murder." Make of that what you will.**

 **Edit: on review, I realized the trivia was the fact that all of Odin's epithets slung around early in the chapter are real, historical monikers for the guy. So there you go. Huzzah.**


	21. Murder

**The list of things I do not own is infinite.**

Loki breathed in the scent of smoke and gore with relish. This was where he belonged. He flexed the fingers buried inside the Mad Titan's chest, digging his nails into the soft tissues swaddling his mortal enemy's most vital organ. He felt the other Loki's subtle tendrils of magic unfurling out of his hand to seek out the true center of the titan's power.

"Ow," Thanos said offhandedly, then smiled. "What do you think you're doing, little Frost Giant? Are you so eager to return to me, to place yourself under my knife again for my eternal amusement, that you would willingly walk into my hand?"

Loki didn't answer right away. After all, the Prince needed time to do this right, without Thanos realizing his aims too soon. Loki studied his enemy. Though a giant in any sense of the word, the Mad Titan didn't seem as large as the fiend that had haunted his memories and nightmares, despite his confident stance. Perhaps it had something to do with the sooty blemishes on his armor, or the ugly hole in a shoulder plate, or the fact that the titan's skull-hugging helmet was now missing, leaving his ugly, bald, and peeling purple scalp bare to the wind. Perhaps it had something to do with the feeling of vulnerable organs quivering at Loki's fingertips. Loki rolled his free hand deftly across the sharp edges of his enemy's armor and along the nearer part of the heavy executioner's blade loosely held to their side. Utterly at ease, he deliberately cut his fingers open on the sword, sawing deep, then lifted his hand and allowed the blood to drip down between them, probably onto Thor's face. He smirked inwardly. He had promised not to kill Thor, but that didn't mean he couldn't do his best to _disturb_ the oaf. It had worked so well on Frigga, after all. Such was the weakness of pretending to care; it wrought wrenching false guilt for true sins.

Finally, he met Thanos' waiting eyes. "Do I really look like I care even the tiniest bit about your threats?"

"HAH! You wound me to the quick. Feign composure all you like, I see through it. Even you couldn't fully lock away the memories of our _special_ times together. Still, perhaps you need to be reminded of what you face? You shouldn't be so long without all the wondrous types of misery I taught you. I even dreamed up some new options you may try, while you were away. I thought it might be intriguing, for instance, to dissect your living nerves out intact, then slowly shave them back. To prolong and intensify the experience, you see. Burning, shooting pain combined with complete paralysis! We could do that another way too, dose you up on the right venom, run some current through you, and cover you with coals...again. The options are endless. I'll induce some hallucinations at the same time, make the sensation more vivid and disturbing. Which would you prefer, my pet?" His voice assumed the crooning quality he often used in his torture chambers. "I have such plans for you: I will make your living, breathing, sentient body into a fountain to adorn my hall and let your starved but deathless heart pump only clear, barren water. Truly, the mere memory of your screams and livid oaths has been inspiring in your absence, but now... We could be great, me the toiling artist, you the groaning and crying medium of my labors, senseless to anything but the agony I grant you."

Loki interrupted _, "Fascinating_ as those options sound, even shall I say, delightfully sickening, might I again demonstrate my current and eternal incuriosity for you and your activities?" He strangled the villain's heart just a little harder. Because he enjoyed it.

Thanos jerked, then chuckled. "I know you far too well, my Trickster. I have torn your secrets from your twisted and unwilling tongue with metal and magic. I know when you're lying to me. You will _never_ make me believe you no longer fear me. You might have run from me once, but I still own your mind."

"You think so? My mind is a slippery thing."

"Enough. You are impeding my purpose here. I am done playing and intend to end Asgard's interminably long dominion today. Within the hour, in fact. You know I can. Now, step away, slave, and you may thank me for my mercy later when you lie broken on my machines in the deepest of the Death Pits - your true home."

Loki felt a glimmer of triumph filtering in from the Prince's consciousness. He grinned widely. "Poor choice of words, credulous idiot. _I_ never feared you. I hated you." He released his grip on the heart and stepped back. His hand emerged from Thanos' body with a delicious, slurping sound, covered in dark blood. More importantly, a writhing knot of blackest black followed, suspended over his palm.

The titan blanched at the sight. "How..."

"There are two of us!" Loki cackled. "Well, more precisely, an as yet to be determined number, but at least five. Two active participants currently."

Thanos did not bother trying to comprehend that statement. He growled and lumbered forward, stomping on Thor's head and swiping at the shadowy globe floating tantalizingly before him.

Loki nimbly danced away. "I don't think I'll give it back," he taunted. "Do you think I would make a good god of thieves as well as lies?"

"Impudent infant! You shall suffer an eternity for this - this - presumption! You will beg for such _delight_ as the pain and fear you have hitherto known!"

"I doubt it," Loki said, suddenly serious again. "At least, not in the way you mean." The dark orb sank into his palm. The skin of his hand turned black as ink, and just as smooth.

Thanos pulled up short, the indignation in his eyes rapidly giving way to a far more satisfying humiliation, and shocked, angry, graceless defeat. "You don't want to do that," he said slowly, cautiously.

Loki watched Thor quietly roll to his feet and retrieve his hammer, glaring daggers at the back of Thanos' head. The Thunder God was almost trembling in his thirst for the kill. "No, I don't. But I'm going to. Because I hate you more than I fear you, and even more than I fear this."

The darkness spread up his arm and faded into a dull sheen. Then more rivulets of dusky magic crept out of the air around him, wriggling into his hand. They were coming from all over the battlefield. He had wrested away Thanos' whole connection to the Void and thus to his soldiers - the titan had only a fraction of his neglected native magic left. Prince was now soaking up as much of the latent Void energy lurking in the bodies of Thanos' troops as he could. It wouldn't kill the invaders immediately, but it would make the job markedly easier. The power prickled, but LOJ couldn't quite feel the pain he knew Prince must already endure from the contact. This was much more power than he had ever taken in before, even when he was falling through endless space, even when he was healing himself from an impact with a celestial body. Combined with the taint already permeating his system, this was too much power for one body to hold. It was leaking out of him in spent heat and shimmering aether that quickly vanished in the sun, useless to anyone.

He nodded to Thor. "Goodbye, Thanos. Give Hela my love. I doubt she'll go easy on you." Thor swung. The titan's head burst into crimson jelly, spattering all over Loki. The headless corpse toppled unceremoniously into the gray water they were standing in, quickly staining it a bright red. Loki grinned. "Nicely done. A magnificent rage. I'm glad you've never gone berserk; that would be truly terrifying. Now, I need a storm. And where's Odin?"

Thor blinked at him. "Father was injured and is still up there," he said, gesturing to the side of the pit closer to the city. "What kind of storm do you need?"

"A big one. It needs to stretch across all the rifts. Together, we should be able to take out a lot of the larger, more vexing intruders, making the rest easy pickings. So get up there. You'll probably want a high vantage point. I'll see to father."

"Very well." Thor started up the slope, then turned halfway and smiled broadly and warmly. "I'm glad you could make it, Brother. It's been too long since we've fought side by side. I've missed you so." He loped away.

Loki's grin turned malicious as he followed after Thor's quickly dwindling figure. "Too long indeed, _brother._ And now to our father."

LOJ did not waste time getting out of the pit, but he didn't sprint either. He allowed himself to savor appreciatively the exquisite spell his Princely fellow was working, diverting excess destructive magic into Thor's clouds to strike down giants and demons miles away. He snickered as the Prince even touched off a couple of the explosive runes their impious compatriot had placed almost a week ago in a show of defiance. Then he caught sight of Odin's prostrate form, and nothing else mattered any more.

Ignoring distant screams, distant thunder, and distant explosions, Loki walked slowly up to the Allfather, still lying in his blood on the baked and broken ground. His wounds no longer bled, and he breathed easily. His eye opened. Loki knelt reverently. He was high on the euphoria of Thanos' bloody and inglorious end. Now that a second, longer-coming vengeance was also in his grasp, he felt... calm. A feeling of sublime anticipation. Pity he had so little time to relish it.

"Loki?" Odin murmured.

"Shh..." Loki pressed a finger to the king's lips. He was elated to see that the raw power filling his body instantly started burning his so-called father's skin. He clamped his hand down over Odin's mouth to muffle any sound his victim might make. He felt jubilation rising within him, felt the muscles of his face tighten as the corners of his mouth stretched wide, found himself laughing voicelessly.

"Here," he gasped around his own laughter. "Let me help you with your hurts, your majesty!" He dug a burning finger into the bloody hole marring the king's neck. Odin tried to push him off. Quick as a cat, Loki scrambled atop him to pin him down more effectively. The strength of a dozen Asgardians could not hold him back in this moment. Odin burned everywhere Loki's body touched. Loki laughed all the harder, though still silently. At least, it felt like laughter. He could be sobbing in relief, or these could be the heaves of fear-sickness held so long at bay. Whatever the feeling and the wild underlying emotion, it was not to be tamed down and fitted with a name. He lifted his hand from the king's face and paused to admire the charred remains of lips, cheeks, and gums. Odin sputtered but failed to shriek; his burned tongue was too swollen. Even the teeth and bone were blackened and cracking. But the wound was not lethal to such as him. Painful and disgusting as it was, given a chance to heal, even that damage would vanish without so much as a scar. Loki's gaze shifted. Eyes wouldn't. Eyes were different, for some reason. Eyes mattered. No healer in the Nine Realms could replace them.

"Become you _truly_ Twice-Blind, Allfather," he whispered, then plunged his finger into Odin's remaining eye. Odin thrashed beneath him, and Loki bore down on him. He hoped he burned straight through his nemesis' skull and boiled his brains. He let go of Odin's straining arm to latch a burning hand around his throat, heedless of the old fool's violent struggling. He had regretted his limited time, but now, he decided this wondrous instant gratification was _better_. He could practically feel the life oozing out of Asgard's king in the thick, sour-smelling smoke that rose around his deadly fingers. At long last, it would be _over_... He would be free of this ageless persecutor...

He felt a tug on his awareness and knew his time was almost up. He panicked. He withdrew his hand from the Allfather's gaping eye-socket and joined it to the other on the wretch's traitorous neck. He squeezed. Another consciousness tried to wrest his fingers open and he screamed in fury, any laughter forgotten. He squeezed. He would finish this. By all the blood he had sacrificed to this _beast_ he would squeeze and burn through flesh and bone until he _burned the damn head clean OFF!_

The scream of rage became a scream of anguish and then a sob. Loki's hands sprang open. He lurched to the side, desperate to bring an end to the scorching assault. With trembling fingers, he tried to pour some healing magic onto the hideous, blackened mess that used to be his father. The normal green of his magic was but a verdant iridescence lingering on a mass of wrathful shadow that did nothing but smolder. He focused all his mind on it, welcoming the immediate mental bite as just punishment for what he had allowed his other self to do. The rebellious darkness resisted and ate at him, but slowly, flesh began to rebuild itself on Odin's broken body. He was careful to keep the dark taint away from his sense of the faint but pure starlight that was Odin's own magical core. At the first hint of returning breath, he stopped. His father would live. That was all he could hope to do at the moment. Any more, and he ran the risk of saddling Odin with his own Void-curse without him ever traversing the dead spaces. Odin's peculiar healing gift that had sustained him beyond a normal lifetime for his race would see him through this now.

He sat back on his heels and stared bleakly into space. It was more horrible than he had anticipated, this feeling of guilt, and pain, and traitorous disappointment that his father... his father still... He refused to complete that perfidious thought. He opened his mind fully to the magic and embraced the mental agony with a vengeance, savagely punishing his own weak will and ignobility. And oh, did it hurt. Sublimely. Overwhelmingly. With nothing better to do with the power suddenly roaring in his ears, he channeled it to the insignificant cut on his left hand he had dealt himself, confronting Thanos. The cut sealed itself instantly, and real flames erupted on his skin but failed to burn him properly... He choked on a hysterical giggle. He was being foolish, doing this. He had won, and paid the requisite price. He accepted it. And he would presumably bear the consequences forever, unless another gifted but naive evil genius showed up and managed to do to him what he had done to the Mad Titan. With a shuddering breath, he released the magic again. The all-consuming agony faded to something akin to the milder throb of a fresh amputation.

"Loki!"

Thor. Couldn't he have waited? The war was still on-going, after all. They hadn't gotten every invader at every rift; they were too scattered.

"Loki?" His brother crested a pile of rubble and caught sight of them. His mouth fell open in horror. "Father!" Thor recognized the armor, not the person, Loki thought irrelevantly. The elder prince sprinted down and dropped to his knees at Odin's side, reaching out but hesitating to touch the fragile flesh. He looked up at Loki in bewilderment. "What did you _do?_ " He climbed back to his feet and strode towards Loki, Mjolnir forgotten behind him.

"No, stay away, Thor! I'll burn you..." He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide.

"Like you burned our father? Why _now_? This whole war was for you. Our father fought Thanos for _you!"_

"I mean it! Stay away! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"You're _sorry?_ I know you're still sick in the head, but _this_..."

Loki tried to respond, tried to explain what had happened, that he had done what he could to heal the damage already, but he couldn't. It was all too much. His ashen tongue tripped and stuttered, and his knees felt weak, and his heart thundered panic in his ears and called him to flee. It was all he could do to dodge Thor's attempts to lay hold of him. He refused to burn his brother as well. He stepped backwards into a deep puddle which hissed into steam at his touch. Thor stopped as a plume of hot mist billowed into his face.

"Oh. You mean you'll burn anything, not just me."

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. LOJ, the one that attacked you and Huginn back on Midgard, is the one that hurt Father." He started to cry, except the tears evaporated as soon as they escaped his eyes.

"Oh." Thor looked a little at a loss.

"I think he will live, but he'll never see again, except through the ravens. I think he's in Odinsleep now," Loki supplied.

Thor brightened a little.

"Go," Loki said. "Fetch Lady Eir. Finish up this accursed war. You're needed."

"What about you? You could... just go around burning things, I guess. It shouldn't take too long. Half of the enemy, the ones that are still alive, are already on the retreat now that Thanos is dead and his hold is gone. They do not seem to have much loyalty to his subordinates. We'll get Eir now and figure out how to deal with, um, what the other one did later. So, ah, come with me?"

"No."

..."You're leaving."

"Yes. I'm spent, Thor. Whether _I_ want to or not, I cannot keep this up. I've been holding them all back, and see what happened when I gave in and gave LOJ his head. I didn't want to. I had to, or he and the others would have delayed me too long and let Thanos kill you both. Kill you all. It's safer for everyone if I go."

"We can help you," he said uncertainly. "I want to help you." _I want to fix you._ That, Loki was sure, was unvarnished truth. And Loki dearly wanted to be fixed. But it was moot.

"Not now, Thor. I don't think you can do anything, and I refuse to hurt you all any further."

"Will you come back?"

"I don't know."

"Where will you go? Midgard?"

Loki smiled slightly. "I don't know. I'll let one of the others decide, just not LOJ. I miss being the passenger in this boat."

Thor reached out to him, and Loki flinched away, unsure if it was because of concern regarding his searing flesh, the old conditioned fear, or just habit.

"Farewell, Brother." He took a step backwards, and let the waiting Cimmerian fire take him.

 **Author's note: as a fun fact, the last three chapter titles together are a reference to a rather unusual fanfiction, to say the least. Every year, the fantasy website Suvudu runs a "fantasy cagematch" in March to go along with March Madness, pitting various fantasy characters against each other in a fight to the death (or not, depending on who writes the match). Fans vote for the winners and hash it out in the comments (my other series, Unlikely Contests, is actually taken from my comments over there in the past several years), but each match in every round of the tournament comes with an official, sometimes professionally written, blow-by-blow narrative of the encounter.**

 **Several years ago, there was a matchup between the ice-bear Iorek Byrnison and Napoleon on a Dragon. Even better, the writer decided to go meta, and narrated the match from the POV of the two most instantly recognizable nature documentarians in the world: David Attenborough and Werner Herzog. Attenborough got most of the match, but at the close:**

 **"a tall, funereal man with a gloomy aspect, and a camera crew of his own, emerged from the shadows. It was Werner Herzog. He had also been filming the proceedings, and when he offered his own commentary, it was in a sinister German accent. Every so often, the sound of the bear's jaws crushing Napoleon's bones could be heard. 'Napoleon has learned the same lesson as did Timothy Treadwell,' Herzog said. 'The common character of Nature is not Harmony…' Crunch. 'It is Chaos.' Crunch. 'Hostility.' Crunch. 'And Murder.' Crunch."**

 **Go. Google. It's great.**

 **And now for the denouement. I have a great many threads to tie off, questions to answer, characters to call to the curtain. I hope you continue to enjoy, and might I venture, I'd be interested in y'all's thoughts. I don't think any of us (me included, me especially) expected to end up here upon finishing Chapter 1... This is what happens when you start writing a story with zero plot outlined at the beginning.**


	22. At the Center of It All

**Wokka, wokka, wokka, wokka - Marvel! Avengers!**

Sneaking through Tony Stark's basement, following a trail of blackened footprints in the hardwood floors, Heather Davis had plenty of reasons to second-guess her questionable life decisions. She was just a medic, though admittedly with more on-the-job experience than a lot of doctors. She should have stuck with the regular Army, rather than accepting a commission with the secretive, mercurial, and overly-demanding agency SHIELD. She also should have refused Stark's offer of employment to look after a deranged arch-villain. She really should have minded her own business when the agent stuck watching said villain's old house of horrors tipped her off regarding the clearly magical green and black inferno currently reducing it to ashes (she didn't believe for a moment the official line proposing damp fuel making the house fire extra smoky and plenty of borate making it green). More properly, she should have called her superiors and told them her suspicions of where Loki might go next, rather than take off herself. But she couldn't really help it. Loki had been her patient, and clearly still needed help, last she'd seen. It would be better for him, and arguably the world, if she was the one who confronted him, rather than a platoon of SHIELD agents with machine guns.

She exited the stairwell and instantly smelled smoke. It didn't take any great leap of intuition to guess it was coming from the morgue down the hall. Loki was finally cremating all his lost loves today. She covered her mouth against the smoke and picked up her pace. If he was already gone, there was no reason to hang around; she would call the fire department and get out now. If he was still here, she didn't want to miss him.

She stopped short even before she reached the double doors leading to the morgue. Footprints went in, and came out, and backtracked to turn down another corridor. She followed them. She heard the faint tinkling of breaking glass ahead of her. "Loki! It's me, Heather! Don't go anywhere, please! I'm alone." She broke into a run and barreled into a laboratory she'd never entered before. The benches were full of wires and fiddly little technical gadgets she couldn't name. There was a whole row of computer monitors on the far wall. Loki was standing to one side, waiting for her with a carefully maintained expression of neutrality, a brightly gleaming yellow stone clutched in his right hand.

"Hello, Heather," he said.

He looked terrifying.

He made the dim room look darker. A shadow clung to him like rich velvet. His hair vanished in night. His too-pale, almost gray, face and hands stood out like beacons in contrast. The only colors on him were brownish flecks of dry blood and a green glint in his hooded eyes. Smoke roiled around his feet as the floor varnish smoldered. His very presence was a call to fear, which was patently ridiculous, the rational part of her mind pointed out. He didn't say anything more, or do anything threatening, just watched her.

"Um, hi... I heard about the house, and I knew you'd be coming here."

He shrugged. "It's time. With one thing and another, I think the boys are ready to let go of it all now. I know I am. Maybe, when they're done grieving and self-flagellating, I'll try again." A faint grin crossed his face. "You never know. I might have to come back sooner rather than later, and get on my knees and fix up Mr. Stark's floors for him, to make amends, you know..." Correction: not his face, her face. Lady Loki had a thing for Iron Man and frequently voiced rather risque comments, sometimes embarrassingly explicit, about him to Heather, always out of Stark's hearing. As the medic watched, the Trickster's face even morphed temporarily into something more feminine, with delicate, almost elfin features, before returning to its original haggard appearance.

"What _happened?"_

"The war will soon be over. Thanos is dead. Odin is... Thor will take care of things."

So something pretty bad happened to Odin. More importantly, "Are the others alright, the Avengers? You came back alone."

"I don't know. I had to leave... I have to go."

"No, wait! You look... Are _you_ alright?"

The god(dess) regarded her silently for a moment. "No." She melted away into the shadows, far more gracefully than the last time. Some residual aura sent Heather's skin crawling, but that was it.

"I'm here if you ever need a friend, Loki!" she shouted into the empty air. Loki probably didn't hear her, but it made her feel less useless. With a muttered curse, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911 to summon the fire crew. And she had better get out of here now before it spread out of the morgue and hit some noxious chemical Stark kept down here.

 **Author's note: the show must go on, but these later chapters are going to be on the shorter side again. If you're wondering, the title is from Bowie's last album, Blackstar, and probably isn't that appropriate, but who cares. I like the line. Fun fact: you can indeed use borate to make green fire. You can also mix it with zinc and make a flame-retardant, which I learned from reading Jennifer Fallon's amazing _Second Sons Trilogy_. I highly recommend those books. They're scifi cleverly disguised as fantasy, and they're really, really well-crafted.**


	23. Avengers, Reassemble

**We are all squatters, here, on the dominion of others. Specifically, Marvel.**

Tony squinted. He was sitting at his kitchen counter nursing a cup of coffee well-spiked with vodka. This was meant to nurse the headache he had been enduring on and off for the whole week since they had gotten back from Asgard, and the week before that spent _in_ Asgard following the battle, while he and Heimdall tinkered around trying to cobble together a way home using the Tesseract and the remnants of the bifrost. The blinding blue light suddenly illuminating the room was really not helping the pounding in his skull. A blurry silhouette appeared in the middle of the beam. When the light thankfully shut off a moment later, this resolved into a very tired-looking Captain America. Tony breathed a sigh of relief, for both his head and his friend. "Coffee?"

Steve looked at him blearily. His star-spangled suit was rather the worse for wear, but mostly hidden under a borrowed Asgardian cloak. His normal boots were gone, replaced by oversized Asgardian monstrosities. His hands were wrapped in gauze and a goopy poultice. Tony didn't know how the man had managed it, but somehow, his vibranium shield was dented. Steve suddenly smiled and held out his hand for the proffered cup. "My old friend, I love you so, very, very much..." He drained the mug then lurched forward with a strange, limping gait. He plopped inelegantly onto a stool and missed the countertop when he set the mug down. It fell to the floor and shattered. A harsh sound caught halfway between cough and laugh escaped him. "Another," he said, completely straight-faced.

Tony chuckled and poured some more coffee. Steve had mimicked Thor's voice perfectly, even if he had failed to properly shout his demand. Tony pushed the cup across the counter, then unhooked the shield slung across his friend's back and set it down. Steve stretched with a pained sigh. He really did look much worse than even Tony's head felt. "What happened?" Tony finally asked as he attempted to will the shards of coffee mug on the floor to move themselves into the trashcan. His powers of telekinesis were sadly still nonexistent, unfortunately. He would have to find a broom. "You were MIA after day one of the battle, and still MIA when we finished rooting out the skulkers on day three. It was a burned-out hellhole where you'd been fighting. Thor said he'd keep looking, but we really feared the worst."

Before Steve could answer, Clint skidded into the room, wide-eyed. "Steve?! Hey, Nat! Bruce! Jarvis wasn't lying! He's alive! He's here!" Bruce was pelting past him before Clint even finished speaking, Natasha close at his heels. Natasha pulled up short in the doorway, but Bruce just plowed on ahead and caught Steve in a bear hug, although he couldn't quite reach all the way around the Captain's broad shoulders.

"You're alive," the normally reserved scientist said simply, voice thick with emotion.

"So I am," Steve said. He seemed too exhausted to say much else. Tony decided they would pack him off to bed as soon as they'd gotten the quick version of what happened.

"Where were you? We couldn't find you anywhere. Even from one of those glider things, I couldn't find you after noon that first day." Clint sounded almost accusatory as he and the others claimed seats.

"Muspelheim, Thor called it. The fires where we were fighting got so bad we couldn't even retreat. A little while after the earthquake, we ended up pinned against the cliff where the rift was and had to go through. Then the other side was basically worse, with tons more of Thanos' army assembled on an old lava field surrounded by actively erupting volcanos. Thor says the entire world of Muspelheim is like that - the other name is the Land of Fire. It was pretty bad. Talk about 'out of the frying pan.' The air was so hot and so polluted it was hard to breathe, and my boots burned clean through after an hour." He paused and started working his bigger replacement boots off, as if he'd only just remembered he was wearing them. They fell to the floor with dull _thuds_ one after the other, revealing heavy bandages rising halfway to his knees instead of socks. The skin showing above the bandages was hairless and bright pink. The Captain sighed in contentment. "That's better. Anyways, we spent a while fighting for our lives and losing rather horribly before something happened and the enemy's cohesion just disintegrated."

"Probably that was when Thanos kicked it," Clint said. "Happened all over the field."

"That's what Thor thought too. Anyhow, some of them started fighting each other, the fire giants just split off in all directions, and the rest took off away from the rift entrance. They were sorta pathetic. You could tell they were unwilling conscripts, like Loki was, and just... terrified... by their sudden freedom. We actually ended up following them, me and about a dozen Asgardians. Turns out most Asgardians don't do much better in Muspelheim than humans do, without special gear. A handful with enough magic to protect themselves from the heat stayed behind to cover the rift. None of them made it back."

He stopped for a moment to hold out his cup for yet another measure of coffee. Tony hesitated, then went ahead and poured him some, draining the pot. If the continued drooping of the Cap's eyelids was anything to go by, the caffeine wasn't having much of an effect anyways and he'd be sacked out soon enough.

"At any rate, we followed them for miles to a whole other rift, which lead to Svartalfheim, I think it's called. The Dark World. It was pretty bleak, and not what I'd call habitable, but at least it wasn't on fire. We hid out there for a couple days, since most of us were in no condition to do anything too adventurous. I wasn't the only one without a good foot to stand on. But there was precious little water where we were, and no food. We managed to find _another_ rift - Loki was right when he said the Dark World has a ton of rifts. Several just opened on other parts of the same planet, and we almost ended up back in Muspelheim before we found a way to, um, to the dwarf world. I forget what it's called. Nida- something? We were in the middle of nowhere there, but at least they had water. And some edible plants. That's where Thor finally found us, or Heimdall I suppose, a couple days ago." He gestured to his feet. "I got to spend some time with Lady Eir before coming home. How did you guys fare?"

"Phew. Well, I burned _one_ foot pretty badly," Tony said, "which the lovely lady we both no doubt adore by now was able to patch up for me, although it had to wait until after she'd seen to... some more critical injuries... did Thor tell you about Odin?" Steve nodded grimly, and Tony continued hastily. "Everyone else came through just fine, couple of minor scrapes, lots of close calls. Nat almost got it taking down a berserker. Clint fell out of the sky."

Clint grunted his disapproval at that summary, but didn't say anything. Natasha glared at Tony, and he winced guiltily. They had all been duly impressed when she told them what happened with Hoenir, but she really didn't share their enthusiasm. She'd put up with various Asgardians complimenting her for a week while privately beating herself up over Fandral's death. Everyone, even Lady Sif, said there was nothing more she could have done, and she had agreed, but it didn't help. She still blamed herself. She didn't need more of that kind of guilt. And Tony kept forgetting to be sensitive. He'd seen a couple berserkers himself and was sincerely grateful he hadn't had to fight one, let alone know its name.

"The Other Guy loved it," Bruce commented hastily, frowning slightly. "He was out and fighting the whole three days, not just for the big battle." He tried to smile. "I slept for two days straight afterwards."

"Loki's spells saved us," Natasha said, with finality. All of them nodded in agreement.

"Is there any word of Loki on this end? Thor's frantic. So is Frigga, but neither of them can spare the time to search. Odin was still unconscious when I left, so Frigga's splitting her time caring for him and overseeing quartering and resource distribution. Thor's still acting regent, and he's stuck there at least until the crucial rebuilding is done."

"They still need him to control the spear thing too, right? That other old sorcerer fellow didn't make it? Damn. Well, as for Loki, he actually did come here briefly at least. He burned down his old house, rather spectacularly." Tony gestured to the enormous pile of unread _Times_ on the corner table. "It made the front page. Then he came _here_ here and stole the Mind Stone and burned Njalli's body. He left some impressive burnt-out footprints all across my floors, I might add. Heather intercepted him and spoke with him, but he wouldn't say where he was going before he vanished. Haven't heard from him since."

Steve yawned. "Well, it could be worse. Shame about the Stone. I guess that puts paid to your Ultron experiment thing. But Loki probably needs it more than Earth does at the moment. I hope he makes good use of it." He yawned again.

"Go to bed, Steve," Natasha said.

He didn't even argue, just nodded, stood up, and minced out of the room, leaving his shield and discarded boots behind him.

.

Tony entered the kitchen the next morning to see Steve clean and shaved and dressed and chipper, though still with tender feet propped up on a cushion taken from his bed probably, perusing one of the old newspapers no one else had bothered to read yet. He appeared to be almost done with the stack. It was disgusting. Tony _still_ had a headache and had yet to reenter even a semi-human level of functioning, let alone a useful, thinking, _reading_ one. Especially in the morning.

"Good morning," Steve said without looking up. Hateful.

"Morning," Tony grumbled, searching listlessly for poptarts in the refrigerator. It occurred to him it would probably make more sense to look in the pantry.

"You know, Loki's house didn't just make the front page that one day."

"Uhngn."

"Some enterprising journalist went to the effort of trying to figure out more about whoever owned the house and whether they had died in the fire and so on, since the police had no clue really, and the fire department was really mystified as to how the fire started so suddenly and ferociously and why anyone would store enough boric acid in their house for it to burn green. He discovered that the deed was still officially registered to 'Lukas Goodman,' aged by this time about 118 if he was still by some unbelievable fluke still alive, having come to America as an 18-yr-old immigrant in 1914 on the eve of WWI. The journalist talked to neighbors and the utility company and learned that there had been activity at the house recently, which got me wondering what kind of skullduggery Loki pulled to keep the bills paid while he was gone. There was even some kind of emergency response awhile back reported, which I'm guessing was us."

"Sure."

"But it doesn't stop there. A couple people wrote in wanting more information, since there was the admittedly absurd possibility that the country's oldest man had just been discovered as he died in his own home. Apparently, it would make 'Lukas Goodman' the oldest American man in history, stealing the record back from some guy in California."

Tony found the poptarts. He had put them on the counter right next to the toaster yesterday. Cherry flavor.

"So the same journalist did some more digging, and he _tracked down 'Goodman's' only known surviving relative, his grandson Locke, age 39, and interviewed him_."

"Huh... Wait, _what?_ "

"The interview appeared in the weekend paper, alongside a full obituary for Lukas Sardis Goodman, born August 1, 1896, died December 16, 2014. Apparently by the way, 'Sardis' means 'Prince of Joy,' so that's a name I find even more depressing than 'Goodman.' It's pretty sad when you're reduced to looking for comfort in your improvised secret identity... Let's see now: in the interview, Locke stated that he was shocked to learn of his grandfather's death because he didn't follow the news, had recently been ill himself, and no one had contacted him after the fire. He confirmed that his grandfather did still live at home, with a visiting home aide a couple times a week, and pretty much never went out. He confirmed that emergency responders had gone to the house a couple months ago when the old man was having some health issues and no one was around."

" _What?"_

"The grandson, it turns out, is a rather reclusive artist who is actually now planning to dedicate his show next spring to his wholly remarkable grandfather Lukas. And there's some pictures of some of his paintings. They're quite good. Sort of abstract. But definitely Loki's."

" _Give me that!"_

"You had a whole week to read these before I showed up." He shook his head at the article. "Heh. 'Recently been ill,' he said. That's putting it mildly."

Tony made a grab for the paper but had to settle for reading over Steve's shoulder. The paintings pictured really were nice, and the full story in the interview and obituary actually sounded perfectly plausible. A perfect lie from a master liar, though Tony couldn't imagine why Loki would have condescended to talk to a reporter of all things. Maybe it amused him. "Shit," he mumbled. He couldn't think of any more intelligent conclusion. "Want to get tickets to the show?"

 **Author's note: the dwarf world is Nidavellir. The oldest American man on record is Christian Mortensen, a California man who was born in 1882 and died in 1998, aged 115 years and 252 days, according to Wikipedia.**


	24. Art Therapy

**Zzzzzz... legal-ese... zzzzzzzz... Marvel... zzzzzzz... unnecessary disclaimer... zzzzzz... Avengers... zzzzzzzzzzzz...**

Nat and Bruce made their way warily into the art gallery. Steve and Tony were here too, but Bruce had already lost them in the press of people. Clint was perched somewhere on a roof outside, "just in case." He probably didn't need to be, Bruce thought, but the archer neither wanted to come inside nor to stay behind. He still had a very strained, uncomfortable, and confusing relationship with their quarry, even after everything that had happened, and seemed to prefer sidestepping the issue to confronting it head-on whenever possible.

It was quickly clear that they would not easily catch sight of Loki in here anyways, if he had even bothered to be present. There were too many people. The couple of critics who had seen the show ahead of time had been sufficiently (and vocally) impressed that tickets for this virtually unknown artist had actually sold out. Bruce didn't particularly mind, though. He wanted to track down Loki, but he also just liked looking at interesting paintings. He had dragged his friends to numerous other shows in the past few years, although Steve was, generally speaking, the only one to show much interest. He nudged Natasha over towards the nearest wall and they stopped before a small canvas that looked rather like a surrealist's fjord, painted in garish inverse colors. It was entitled _The Old Country_ , which Bruce assumed was supposed to mean Scotland to the layman, recalling the fictionalized Lukas Goodman bio proudly stationed by the door, next to the _Portrait of My Grandfather_ , a brutally worn-out and beaten-down Loki with wrinkles like deep scars and hair and beard like dirty snow... The old country pictured here, however, was recognizably Asgard, from the twin moons and tempestuous falls, though the Grotesque inhabitants and the psychedelic inverted coloring with impressive dark purple auroras on blazing white-orange skies made it much more alarming than usual.

Something caught his eye in the murky corner of the piece. There was a stylized artist's mark, gray on lavender, barely readable. Bruce had seen it before. He quickly strode over to the next painting, with much milder tones, and searched its corners. Natasha followed. "What is it?" she asked.

Bruce pointed to the _LG_ standing bold yellow against a dark sapphire background tucked into the edge of this painting, which seemed to be of a brilliantly luminescent, levitating crystal ball, for some reason. "I just realized I have one of 'Locke Goodman's' paintings at home. It's signed the same way."

"Seriously?"

"I've had it for years. Picked it up in one of those itty-bitty art shops down town, where it's mostly odds and ends art supplies with just a couple racks of prints and a stack of random paintings, maybe a sculpture if you're lucky. It wasn't even framed, and the label on the back just had the title. I had no idea..."

"Huh. What's it like?"

Suddenly, Bruce hesitated to tell her. It was called _The Monster Within_ , and done all in bright greens, with jagged and aggressive forms collapsing around a single, dark, slumped, utterly defeated silhouette. He had always assumed it was supposed to be "envy" or something like that, but it had appealed to him for more personal significance, obviously. But then, it's not like the Black Widow didn't know the very worst of the Hulk and his own conflicted feelings about his alter ego. He thought for a moment and then pulled out his phone. It was hard to do the odd painting descriptive justice, but he thought he had a couple of pictures from his Jersey apartment where it showed up in the background. It wasn't in the main room, where just anybody could see it. He found what he was looking for and passed the device wordlessly to Nat, before turning his attention back to the painting they were standing in front of.

It really did look like a crystal ball, lit from within by a dazzling iridescence, suspended in an empty field of blue that faded from winter noon sky to darkest night around it. He had no idea what it was supposed to be, no idea what might have inspired it in Loki's tortured mind. Curious, he looked to the title card for some clue. It took him a moment to figure out what it said. Like all the others, it was hand-written rather than typed, but this one seemed to have caused a bit of trouble, having been written and erased and rewritten multiple times. Apparently, Loki couldn't decide what to call it and had eventually left the evidence of his indecision to add to the mystery, or something. There were only two words. The first was either "last" or "lost." The second was either "son" or "sun." Bruce looked back at the painting and remembered watching a very similar ball of light coruscate in Loki's hands, nigh-on half a year ago. Little Njalli's soul must have been entrancing up close like this. "Last son, lost sun, lost son, last sun," he muttered. All four fit perfectly. Natasha tapped him, proffering the phone back without comment, eyes fixed on the glorious orb before them. She too seemed to be at a loss at this...immersion in Loki's thought.

They moved on in silence, taking in the raw emotion flooding the walls. A lot of them were mono- or dichromatic, he noticed, lending the art a distinct air of removed unreality, to balance out the effortless, unerring precision with which the Trickster painted. Bruce could instantly recognize the impetus behind a good number of them; Loki's chief inspiration was always his children, after all. There was a whole wistful watercolor series cheekily entitled _Fair Helen's Sisters,_ tiny studies of just a eye, just an ear, just a smile, just a hand, no hint large enough to betray their non-Greek/Trojan heritage. _Hel_ herself had a full portrait nearby, looking rather comforting despite her withered side, holding up a bright white light to beat back an oppressive gloom that almost concealed her morbid surroundings.

And then there were the less pleasant ones, inspired by the god's torments over the years. They weren't explicit and were often abstract, but all the hints were there. One of the more alarming was _Sacrifice,_ a naked Celtic warrior maid with bloodied eyes standing tall in some macabre triumph, tied to a medieval breaking wheel, eager for a painful execution; her vivid blue warpaint was patterned exactly like the tribe-lines of a Jotun.

Strangely, there was no trace of Thor, Frigga, or Odin that Bruce could see. But, there were also a good number that neither he nor Natasha could quite place. Loki had lived a long time; he hadn't told them everything on his mind and probably never would.

Natasha suddenly stopped dead, staring over his shoulder as the color drained from her face. Bruce had never seen her look so... affected. Even though she had started to thaw a bit as part of the Avengers team, she had been ruthlessly trained to be calm and collected, to control her emotions, never display them, never heed them. He followed her gaze to a huge canvas tucked in a corner with a large gaggle of spectators crowded in front of it. It _was_ striking: a loosely sketched figure done in dark shades of red against a base of harsh white. A flawless, beautiful, man's face, with his lips sewn shut, blood running in slender streams down his chin, and eyes distressingly blank, empty of pain, rage, fear, or sorrow. The Loki of a thousand years ago, remembered with perfect clarity, Bruce thought.

"Oh, God," Natasha breathed. "That's Hoenir."

Oh. Bruce looked again and was able to make out the vague familial resemblance to Fandral. Of course Nat was right. The painting had a grim double meaning like so many they had already seen, that none of the fascinated onlookers but them recognized. With morbid curiosity, the two of them edged closer. Nat just stared at the canvas in a kind of mute paralysis. It wasn't that she actually felt guilty about putting the berserker out of his misery, Bruce decided. She was more just mourning the tragedy of it all, and was honestly angry that fate had chosen her to end it only _after_ she knew the stakes and only _after_ Fandral had already died. Or perhaps, he thought more grimly, she saw something of herself in the berserker, their mindless bloodlust a blunt metaphor for her own "red ledger" from her days as a heartless assassin. Of course, _he_ didn't even need a metaphorical comparison; he clearly remembered the instant The Other Guy had recognized another berserker as a rare kindred spirit, before tearing the hapless creature to shreds. Shaking his head at the bloody spectacle captured on canvas before him and the bitter, bloodier memory in his mind, Bruce craned his neck to see the diminutive title card to the side: _Silent God_. Heh. In more ways than one. He noticed the label said it was painted last year. Maybe Loki hadn't heard the news from Asgard, yet.

Vaguely, Bruce became aware that several of the patrons around them were already discussing their opening bids for the painting; it wasn't even officially for sale, at least not yet. None of them were, actually, though he supposed it wasn't unreasonable to assume they would be, if Loki actually intended to perform his role as starving artist. After all, he thought wryly, Loki had clearly sold some in the past, for him to stumble across one downtown all those years ago. Bruce wondered what these spectators would do with it if they did buy it - the _Silent God_ was much too disturbing to keep in a casual setting. He cast around, observing all the regular people wandering around the show, with no idea what they were looking at. They were universally excited and enthusiastic, cheerfully immune to the truth behind the supposed fantasy displayed in these furious brush-strokes. His eyes lingered on another nearby canvas, of darker tones, showing a number of overlapping grim, shadowy profiles that nonetheless seemed more sad than frightening, reminding him of disquieting photographs from the Holocaust. Bruce wondered if the wizened old woman studying the painting might interpret that as inspired by "Lukas Goodman"'s recollections of the World Wars, or something. With a sinking feeling, he thought one profile resembled a poor, crazed, nameless berserker The Other Guy had torn apart during the battle in Asgard a few months ago. The title card there said _Family Friends Lost and Found._ Slowly, Bruce pulled Nat away from the _Silent God._ This evening was going to be difficult.

 **Author's Note: sorry for the wait. There has been a great deal of busy-work. At least two more chapters pending.**


	25. An Alter Ego

**There was an old comic-book god**

 **Who acquired a silver-screen squad.**

 **Thus he paid Marvel's bills**

 **(Which we can't say was for ill),**

 **While leaving us all over-awed.**

"I think we should just go. He's not here. We've seen all there is to see. Even Bruce texted to say he's going, and you know how long he was taking looking at all these things. I swear he's going to end up buying one."

"Well, there are worse things to collect than 'LG' paintings. I still think it's kind of funny that he's had one for almost ten years, and never knew it was actually one of Loki's."

Tony laughed. "I know what you mean. I can definitely see why that one appealed to him though. I mean, it's mostly green and literally called 'The Monster Within.' It's hard to be more on-the-nose than that."

"Indeed."

"You know, if Bruce does end up wanting some of these, maybe I'll help him pay for them. They're not going to be cheap any more, now that this lot are in on it." He gestured around to the wealthy crowd. Funnily enough, once the critical praise had got around and made the show the "in" place to be this weekend, half the regular people lucky enough to have bought a ticket early on before the hype had simply sold out to richer late-comers. Part of the reason Tony and Steve were still here was that Tony in particular kept getting recognized and pulled into painfully dull small-talk with the city's elite. Steve was of course staying at Stark Tower to avoid a tedious morning commute from DC and had made the mistake of driving over with him. He was seriously considering a taxi back by now. He looked around, trying to guess the best path through Tony's prowling peers and paparazzi to get to the door. The irony, Captain America thought as he eyed the bejewelled crowd, was that none of them realized they were celebrating the genius of the very person who had nearly destroyed the city not too long ago, including a couple museums, galleries, and theaters that were still under repair and might otherwise be playing host to some alternative fashionable soiree this evening.

"Hold up. I see him! He's in that knot over there." Steve gestured to a nearby cluster of men and women in nice suits and cocktail dresses. In the center, in a simple black, mildly paint-stained T-shirt, windbreaker, and jeans, stood the God of Mischief himself. He looked faintly bored with the proceedings. On the plus side, he wasn't setting anything on fire and he appeared to have put on weight. Steve and Tony made a beeline for him.

The universe lurched sideways. Steve found himself suddenly in a muted twilight, feet firmly glued to the ground. He found he couldn't move his head and had to look for Tony out of the corner of his vision. Tony appeared to be similarly paralyzed. A feeling of horror blossomed inside him as he watched some other version of himself peel off and walk with the suddenly reanimated Tony off towards another wall of paintings, distantly murmuring some kind of pleasantries that sounded like complete gibberish. His panic doubled when a short young woman walked right through him to join the conversation around Loki.

A voice hissed menacingly in his ear. "Leave him alone."

" _Loki?_ " He plainly heard Tony's voice still beside him, which was impossible, since Tony had just walked away. But then, his disembodied sight was still directed at the utterly nonchalant, seemingly oblivious owner of the hiss.

"What are you doing?" Steve tried to ask, the words ringing out despite his current mouthlessness.

"I'm just keeping you from wrecking everything for me. I'll reunite you with your little bodies as soon as I'm done, and then you can leave."

"Um, ok." They didn't exactly have a choice but to take his word for it. "What are you doing _here,_ in public? I mean, if you didn't want us to find you..."

The voice hesitated. When he spoke again, he sounded somewhat trepidatious, but pleased with himself. "I discovered my Alterego."

"Locke?" Tony asked in astonishment, making the connection instantly.

"Indeed. I was just as surprised as you are. After I retrieved the Mind Stone, I was able to use it to more effectively understand my other selves. There are more than we had thought, though most are not aware very much. Locke Goodman came into being just when Kjartan passed. Back then, he was only conscious for brief periods, just minutes here and there that _I_ could never remember. He was a child himself. But he has aged since then. He incorporated the old Lukas persona into his own history ages ago and used his 'grandfather's' accounts to set up his own apartment. That reporter tracked him down with utility and banking records, you know."

He was picking up speed, eager to share his news with someone else, even if it was with unwilling captives. "He's interesting. He's usually around so little, but he's so... content. He thinks he's human! He knows he's not normal, but he doesn't think about it, sort of like Prince used to be, though that might be because of, well, he smokes a lot and drinks a lot. He probably has to for it to have any kind of effect, since he's still got the constitution of a Jotun, whether he knows it or not. He's also really suggestible - LOA helped him come up with the explanation I assume you read about in the paper, and he didn't even notice the ideas weren't originally his. He doesn't have any of the memories I do but he _dreams_ about them! That's where he gets his inspiration for his artwork... There are so many of these back at his little studio. Stacks and stacks of canvases and sketches. I like looking at them. It's like seeing my own story from an outsider's perspective, except he still understands it all perfectly."

Suddenly, Loki's face appeared directly in front of them, pale and hard and wreathed in dark flame, nothing like Locke Goodman's unassuming personage a few feet away. No one else seemed to notice the magical fracas, though. "I forbid you from speaking to him. I don't want you people to let anything slip and confuse him."

It was Tony who responded uncertainly, "We certainly don't want to upset him, or you, but -"

"No. You don't understand. He is happy as he is, happier than I can ever remember being. And since he's completely cut himself off from the magic, he doesn't even _feel_ the Void. I expect in his mind he will grow old and eventually die, and I will do everything I can to maintain his fiction as he needs it until then. His life is normal, and therefore precious. You will not interfere."

It sounded to Steve like Loki had adopted Locke, his other self, as his new project, his new child. He vaguely disagreed with Loki's assessment of the situation: substance abuse wasn't usually a sign of underlying contentment. And there was plenty of evidence to the contrary all around them. It suddenly occurred to him that Loki may not know about some of Locke's older works though, like the one Bruce had. _That_ one certainly suggested that Locke was more alarmed and afraid of what was happening to him than "content" with his life, Steve thought. Now was definitely not the time to open that particular can of worms, he decided. "Alright, we won't bother him, but we'd certainly like to talk to _you_ some more."

"Though maybe not here," Tony broke in, "if you're going to be touchy and snatch my brain out of my head, or whatever this is. I do not like watching myself moon around like a witless dolt from behind."

Steve glanced over at their stranded selves, staring sightlessly at a large painting done in dreamy swirls of indigo, spring green, and palest yellow. He and Tony had seen it earlier. It was called _Tranquil Summer with Meira_.

"Fine, I'll let you go, and I'll meet you at your tower later. Maybe tomorrow. Sometime."

"Well, maybe not the tower," Tony said sulkily. "The workmen finally refinished the floor this week. I'd rather not call them back."

Loki grinned broadly, looking a lot less demonic than a caricature of his more mischievous self. "I can say without reservation that if anything does happen to your precious floor, I will figure out how to kill myself before I let anyone in here help you get it polished up again."

Steve had a feeling he was missing something. Apparently, so did Tony: "Okay? You bastard? That's not the kind of threat I usually expect from you, sorry."

"Quite all right, Mr. Stark. I'm just sorry to be the one to inform you that even if _you_ do not enjoy watching yourself 'moon around like a witless dolt from behind,' which I must agree is not nearly as entertaining as watching you moon around witlessly from in front, there are, unfortunately, some who do enjoy it."

Before either of them could disentangle that statement, or ask him to explain it, there was another sideways jerk, and Steve snapped back into his own body, blinking and a little wobbly. Tony looked about the same, though there was also a slow blush creeping up his face with an accompanying look of dawning comprehension. Steve opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off with a warning shake of the head. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and steered them both straight out of the gallery. He remained tight-lipped the entire drive back home, except for occasionally muttering certain expletives that were pretty low-brow even for him. As he took off for the laboratories when they got back to the tower, however, he also displayed a confident smirk that seemed really... incongruous with his other behavior. Steve didn't know what to make of it and decided to let it drop.

 **Author's Note: Still here, and not quite done, obviously. As a little irrelevant remark, if you recall the reference to the Suvudu Cagematch in the author's note a couple chapters back, well, the game is on, but they've moved to a website called Unbound Worlds. Tom Bombadil and Devi (Name of the Wind) were duking it out in a rather unconventional way in the quarter finals. I think it's a fair bet for old Tom to take it all.**


	26. Palliation

**Thanks, Marvel, and other publishing companies, for your lassaiz-faire attitude when it comes to simple fanfiction. And praise be to the principle of freedom of expression.**

Natasha Romanov pulled Tony's third private side door to Stark Tower shut behind her and locked it again. As she did, she felt a globe of heat building behind her and the crawling sensation of static electricity across her back. She whipped around instinctively into a fighter's crouch, two stiletto daggers magically in her hands (Tony had decreed this a dinner party, not war party, and had banned firearms). She stopped just short of stabbing the God of Mischief in the abdomen. Smoothly, she straightened up again, tucking the blades back in her sleeves as she watched the tendrils of dark magic break apart between them and crawl into Loki's smarting skin. His eyes followed her movements, and his expressionless face suddenly broke into an approving smile.

"I favor knives as well, generally speaking. Good choice. Those were quite handsome."

"Good afternoon to you too, Loki. Good to see you." Natasha said. She stepped back and looked him up and down. Judging by his sly grin, she was guessing this was LOA, for now. "You're looking better." He really was. He had put on more muscle in the past months. His cheeks were merely hollow, not gaunt. Initial redness receding, his skin tone was much healthier, though still rather washed out. He'd trimmed his hair. But the green of his eyes was now so dark as to be almost black, and he wore an aura of menace despite his friendly demeanor. There was no mistaking the raw power infusing his being, the power of a wild animal or an oncoming storm. The feeling wasn't malicious, really, but rather... callous. Natasha had no doubt that this was the effect of Loki's Void magic, rather than anything the god was intentionally projecting. She wondered if Thanos had had the same aura, and whether there might have been more to the Titan besides the ghastly character he had built for himself, hidden behind a wall of wild magic. Not that it mattered at this point. "Come on," she said, taking Loki's arm. "The others are already upstairs, or they should be."

They strode down the long hall towards the elevators. As they approached the lifts, they were greeted by the sound of someone attempting to hack up a lung. Natasha let go of Loki and rounded the corner. Dr. Sarmit was sitting on the bench waiting for the elevator, coughing fitfully into her elbow. The elevator was still on the twentieth floor, she noticed.

Loki eyed his psychiatrist uncertainly. "What happened to you?"

Sarmit waved her hands dismissively, though the gesture lost its impact as the paroxysms continued. Nat sat down next to her for a moment and rubbed her back vigorously, then looked back up at Loki. "She caught the flu in mid-January, right after going back to work from her 'sabbatical,' unfortunately, and it turned into pneumonia. Apparently, the cough never really went away afterwards."

"The flu... Good grief! I'm happy you survived, my lady doctor." His whole demeanor changed from vaguely annoyed confusion to polite concern. Natasha sighed inwardly, trying to decide who she was talking to now. Some things definitely hadn't changed.

Dr. Sarmit quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not _that_ old and frail," she said between coughs.

Loki bowed his head to her. "I did not mean to imply it, but is not the flu the common name for influenza?" Sarmit nodded. "Influenza is normally fatal among your kind, is it not?"

They both looked at him strangely. "Um... no. I mean, it can be, but not usually, if you're healthy."

"Odd. It certainly _seemed_ fatal when the outbreak spread through town just a couple years after I moved in... There were all new neighbors afterwards, when I got back..."

Natasha chuckled and murmured in Sarmit's ear, who smiled and nodded. She cleared her throat. "Was that 1918?"

"Mmm... yes."

"The Spanish Influenza," Sarmit said hoarsely, nodding. She had finally gotten her breath back. "500 million infected, up to 100 million dead. One of the worst natural disasters in human history. No wonder you were confused, if that's your only experience with flu. But that pandemic was an outlier. The virus was unusually virulent that year. But the flu comes around every year, and it's nowhere near as dangerous as it used to be. We vaccinate. Treatment's a lot better today, too." The elevator dinged.

"I see." He fell to pondering, all the way up to the penthouse.

Dinner was a pleasant affair that nonetheless seemed to drag on interminably. Prince stayed around the entire time and deliberately kept the conversation to mundane topics, never Asgard, never Thanos, never his other selves, despite everyone else's unsubtle hints. When prompted, he eventually declared that he preferred to enjoy himself at the dinner table and would much prefer to address their questions after the meal. Natasha was all for skipping dessert at that point, but Loki ignored all protestations and took his time savoring his gelato.

At long last, the seven of them adjourned to a nearby sitting room. "We tried to track you down earlier. We thought it would be easy, since that reporter found you..." Steve began.

"That was before I took steps to conceal myself more thoroughly from prying eyes."

"Well, yes, we figured. But you weren't on Earth just being Locke the whole time, were you? Where did you go? Did you visit Hela?"

"No. Helheim is still barred against me, now even moreso." He smiled mirthlessly. "It is the one part of the entire cosmos anathema to the Spirit of the Void, and as its supposed master and sole captive, it prevents even my thought from traveling those mists. Hela will have to come to me."

Bruce perked up in sudden interest. "The _Spirit_ of the Void? I thought it was just sort of free energy. Do you mean -"

"But in answer to your other question," Loki interrupted, "I visited several other worlds, nothing of interest to you lot, and I revisited the Dead Spaces."

"Thanos' base?" Tony asked in astonishment. "I'd have thought that the last place you'd want to go."

Loki shrugged. "It was the Lady's idea. A good way to spend LOJ's rage and some excess power."

The room was still for a minute, as they all wondered the same thing: "What exactly did you do?" Natasha asked cautiously.

He smiled broadly. "The place is scoured. No trace remains of his fortifications, his equipment, his army, his atrocities. Just bare rock, as it should be. Not even a speck of blood or a drop of sweat. There were even a handful of still living prisoners he had been saving for later I was able to return home. As for the dead, well, they were given over to the flame, a dignity denied to their predecessors." His gaze turned distant for a moment, but then morphed into glowing satisfaction. "Incidentally, the asteroids are quite stunning to behold, now. All the sandy patches were melted to glass in the heat, so sunlight reflects off the larger outcroppings in fantastic patterns. I'm hoping Locke will eventually capture the scene on canvas."

"How are you, and the others, faring after all of this?" Dr. Sarmit asked from the couch. Natasha winced as the doctor immediately fell into a coughing fit, again.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm here. I exist. Locke has had his show to keep us all occupied."

..."Odin survived," Bruce said.

"I knew he would," Loki returned with admirable impassivity, but Natasha could see some of the tension easing from his shoulders, even as an angry sneer ghosted across his lips.

"Lady Eir said he'll heal well in time, but with scarring. And he'll still be blind."

Loki looked down and said nothing.

It was Tony who asked, "What did you do with the Mind Stone?"

Loki looked up at him. "It's here." He pulled a spot of brilliant gold light out from somewhere about his person and held it close. Absently, he rolled it around his fingers. It seemed to glow all the brighter in his hand, even as the god grew more relaxed in its light. He smiled at it. "It's a great help. I think I told you yesterday, Master Stark, that it allowed me to differentiate all the shards of myself, all the identities. It's also what allows me to stay conscious when Locke is about; without it, I'd be blind and deaf still in his presence, or rather, stuck in our unconscious, listening to all the whispered thoughts of everyone else, which is actually a new and thoroughly unpleasant experience. Fortunately, I can also use the Stone to partially retreat from the scald of the Void, which is a relief. And that works for all of us who care to use it, not just the willful part." He shuddered slightly. "I don't know how I'd be without it, honestly. Some of the other, smaller voices don't use it much. Maybe they get tired, or forget how to. I'm not sure which, and I'm not sure how to correct it. But in any case, I can hear the toll it takes on them, and so can the Lady, and LOA when he bothers to listen. They're so confused, listening to the thoughts of a dozen unsleeping and disoriented minds and unable to distinguish them half the time." He looked around a little guiltily. "I also used the Stone in... another spell." He fell silent.

Natasha watched him, thinking, trying to imagine what he could have done with the Infinity Stone to feel guilty about it, given his cavalier attitude earlier regarding his (admittedly justified) rampage in the Dead Spaces, and his seeming acceptance of Odin's fate. She didn't think he'd have used it for anything inconsequential. Then it hit her. "Another spell sort of like the one you did before, back in Asgard?"

Loki winced, and nodded.

"What did you do with LOJ?" Dr. Sarmit asked tonelessly. Natasha was certain the doctor was right, that Loki had done something with his most violent personality. She figured he must have decided after everything had calmed down that that identity was too dangerous to keep around. He had killed a part of himself.

Loki exhaled slowly, silently confirming Natasha's suspicions. "He's gone?" she asked. It was always easier for him to confirm, rather than to say.

His face twitched. "No. That might have been better, but no."

They all stared at him in confusion. "Then what?" Natasha asked.

"He is merged with Odinson."

Natasha was stunned. If she understood things correctly, that would saddle the sensitive, loving, fearful Odinson with the vivid memory of an act which would make his worst fears pale in comparison. He would hate himself. He would be absolutely inconsolable. " _Why?"_

"Because something had to be done, and Odinson was the only one among us all with emotional depth and strength of will to match LOJ."

"LOA called him an emotional wreck, and I didn't think that was wrong. Odinson would have hated LOJ, I'd have thought. He must hate himself," Clint said matter-of-factly from a windowseat.

Loki glanced at him briefly and breathed in deeply. "Indeed, yes. His mood is black to say the least, switching between unconscionable grief to angry self-incrimination and righteous self-defense. But I saw no other way to contain the wrath of Loki of Jotunheim. His rage was too all-consuming to remain unchecked and isolated. It would overwhelm my instincts of duty and rationality if I took it on, overwhelm the Lady's moderation, overwhelm the innocence I discovered in another, child-like identity. It would destroy Locke, or any of the more fleeting identities really. I truly fear the damage it could cause linked to the otherworldly madness of the Old One or to the manipulative self-interest of LOA. Besides destruction, there was no other choice, no other power besides the Odinson's utter grief and guilt to rein him in. And Odinson agreed."

Suddenly, Loki turned accusingly to Clint again. "I know you still mistrust my face, Master Barton. You see in me only LOA who bewitched you, and perhaps LOJ who attacked everyone, including me. I do not blame you for that. You discount me because I was weak for so long, and you discount Odinson because his strength _is weakness._ He is entirely ruled by emotion, and in that, he and LOJ were already alike. The difference is the breadth of his emotion and the completeness of his feeling. He doesn't even use the Stone, which I suspect is because _that_ kind of pain is trivial in comparison to the magnitude of his own heart and thought. Adding the angry thoughts of LOJ to Odinson's sensitive soul was like adding a shallow sea to your world's Tethys of old. He will find new currents to deal with it, in time, which is why he agreed to the spell. Volunteered, in fact. LOA and the Lady both proposed eliminating LOJ entirely, until Odinson persuaded us he could handle it. I still believe he can."

Clint raised his hands, signalling peace, thankfully. The room had darkened to an uncomfortable half-light, despite the distant brightness of the outdoors trying to sneak in through the windows. The very air had grown oppressive, almost fetid, and had sent the doctor into another coughing fit. Loki blinked, only just now noticing the effect his mood had been having on their local atmosphere. He closed his eyes and somehow drew the shadows back into himself, with a tiny _pop._ "My apologies," he said sheepishly. He sat back down and started fiddling with something in his lap.

"It's alright," Steve said after a moment.

Nat shook her head, ignoring the awkward silence about the room. She felt no need to be embarrassed for Loki's little outburst, or for Clint provoking it. She was actually thinking more about what the god had said earlier. "A dozen sleepless minds... Loki, why do you hear everyone else, now?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It seems that when I absorbed the Void's magic, it somehow redrew our divisions more sharply, formed individual connections to each identity, and put us all into perpetual psychic communication. Something like that, anyways. The only one who seems immune is Locke, because he cut himself off from our magic long ago. Now, it doesn't even matter if the body is asleep, our minds are still active and keeping each other from oblivion." He offered a small smile. "I think 'exhausting' is the right word."

"I think we need to work more on safely integrating your other selves," Sarmit declared.

Loki looked to her cautiously. "It's dangerous. I don't know what might happen should I combine, say, LOA with the Old One. I might mitigate LOA's single-minded selfishness, but cause him to wreak mischief indiscriminately simply because he doesn't realize it's real. I only used the Stone before because I had to."

"Do you really think it's less dangerous to continue in your dissociated state with the power you have?" she asked gently.

He smiled crookedly. "Probably not," he agreed, and snapped his fingers. A glistening onyx orb flew up out of his lap. Its surface rippled and cracked, shedding its black shell to reveal a faintly glowing, thick, greenish disk, which zoomed over to the psychiatrist to hover in front of her nose, slowly revolving in the air.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, mystified, leaning over her shoulder.

"A cure for your cough, m'lady."

Tony laughed delightedly. "Seriously?"

"I should certainly hope so. There's a fair bit of magic in there, and not one speck of the Void, in case you're wondering. That was all on the outside. It probably tastes pretty terrible, but..."

Hesitantly, the doctor reached out and plucked the lozenge out of the air. "Thank you, Loki." She put it in her mouth, grimaced, and quickly swallowed. "Blech. I see what you mean about the taste. But thankyou."

"Bitter?" Steve asked, grinning.

"Actually no. More like the combination of gin, a shot of almond extract, smelting copper, and stevia powder neat."

"That's... oddly specific."

"There are no words. I do not recommend, until after you too are suffering chronic bronchitis post-flu."

"Noted."

"Now then, Loki," Sarmit said, turning back to her patient with much renewed energy. "I don't think we need start with anything so drastic as experimenting with the Stone. Integration may still be possible the old-fashioned way, which I can assure you will definitely not cause the sorts of drastic effects you're worried about. You should know, though, that while unity of your personalities is obviously ideal, it is actually much more important to work on coping and functioning more globally. I don't want you to feel threatened by the others' thoughts, threatened by the prospect of healing. What we need to do is help you come to terms with what has happened and with the emotions locked away in the others, so you can master yourself. We need to do some family therapy. We need to understand how your magic has changed and affects you. Only then will we be able to work on real healing. I would only consider trying the Stone again once other tactics fail."

Loki leaned backwards and looked up at the ceiling. To Natasha's trained eyes, he looked too deliberately casual, and thus far more vulnerable than he had been. She wondered what he was keeping back from them. "And if it is determined that your Midgardian methods are insufficient? If it seems things are getting worse? If it seems, say, that rather than successful reassembly of my mind, some invisible claw beyond our power to defend against keeps shredding it further...what then?"

"If you think the Void, or some other force, is preventing our progress or even causing further deterioration, then we should consult with someone else who is skilled in magic to help us, perhaps Lady Eir or Frigga" Sarmit said calmly, though Nat could see questions burning in her eyes.

"And if things should quickly progress to the point where I can no longer make contact with them for you, what then? Hypothetically speaking of course..." He continued to gaze serenely at the ceiling.

"Is that something you think -"

"What could you do? Write a message in the sand and hope Heimdall reads it?" He chuckled softly, perhaps remembering the last time he'd said that.

No one else was laughing, but Tony gently kicked his shin, causing the god to loll his head in the billionaire's direction. Tony smiled. "Think it will work? I've got a big beachfront mansion just for this."

Loki grinned back and sat forward again. "Maybe. How often shall we meet, Doctor?"

Sarmit raised her eyebrows at his abrupt change. "Once a week, for now, I should think."

"Perfect. Let me know where to go and when to be there, and I shall come."

"Oh? And how shall I let you know?"

"Good point." He paused for a split second, then shrugged and sketched out some invisible squiggles on the side of his chair. He passed a hand over the area, and a thin patch of veneer peeled up, an address slowly shading in.

Tony sighed. "Must you always vandalize my things when you visit? I have perfectly good paper and pens in the other room, you know."

Loki smiled, extended the address towards Dr. Sarmit, then turned in his chair to lock eyes with Tony, who suddenly leaned away. Loki rested one elbow on the back of the chair, resting his head on his fist. He lowered his gaze briefly to the disturbed patch of veneer and began to pass his fingertips over it in slow circles, never saying a word. The blemish repaired itself.

Tony harrumphed. "Nevermind." He shifted in his chair, staring at the wall space between Nat and Steve. Natasha raised an eyebrow and looked at the Captain. It took all her training to bury her laugh at his expression, caught somewhere between shock, scandal, and dawning comprehension. He was turning a highly amusing shade of pink. In turn, Loki's grin had turned distinctly evil. He was teasing, she realized delightedly. Maybe there was still hope beneath his doom and gloom.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Well, on _that_ note -"

"I should go," Loki said, standing.

"That's not what I meant to say," Bruce began.

"But it is true, nonetheless. I'm still hosting a show this evening, you know."

"Ah, yes. Well, about that, Loki, before you go, can I just say, I'm a big fan of your work?"

Loki blinked at him in surprise. "Thank you, Dr. Banner."

"Really. I've seen Locke's work around before. I even bought one of his paintings years ago. You're a real artist. I wanted to tell you that."

"That is...gratifying. I'd like to see that painting sometime, Dr. Banner, if you still have it."

" _All_ of us admire your work, Loki," Steve said, rising from his chair as well. "Clint hasn't seen it yet, nor the doctor, I believe, but the rest of us were very impressed."

Natasha and Tony nodded.

"Well. My thanks."

Steve held out a hand. "I'm glad you're doing better, Loki. But, please, don't hide yourself away in the future. Set us some boundaries, but don't keep us in the dark. We want to know you're ok." Loki shook his hand, then pulled him into a hug.

Natasha stepped up and hugged him too, glad to reaffirm that he was, in fact, real and alive. "Stay safe, Loki," she said.

"And you, Lady Natasha."

She and Steve stepped back. Clint was the next one to come forward, tacitly extending a hand. Loki smiled and took it in both of his. "Thank you, Agent Barton. You are a brave and generous man, putting up with and caring for an enemy in your home."

"It's _my_ home," Tony mumbled from behind him.

Loki grinned and turned around, catching his host's head in a bearhug - he towered over all the humans, except perhaps Steve. "I meant Midgard, fool." He tousled Tony's hair fondly, causing him to glower all the further.

"Drop dead." His voice was muffled in Loki's jacket.

"You work on that and let me know if you find anything," Loki commented. "It may be useful down the line."

"Deal." He hugged the Trickster back. He wormed his head free of Loki's arms, stepped back and looked around. He smirked suddenly. "Give me your number before you go, in case I _do_ come up with something," he said in a stage whisper.

Loki's brows shot up. " _Reeeally?"_ he said archedly.

Tony shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "You never know. Or, maybe you could come over, and we could work on it together."

Loki struggled to maintain his (...her?) composure, although Natasha wasn't sure if he (She.) was happy or livid. "That is _not_ what I expected."

"Is that a no? I mean, you can be a pretty good-looking girl. I'm perfectly willing to wait while you sort yourself out for a bit, but..."

"Okay, I think this is a conversation you two can have on your own time," Dr. Sarmit broke in, climbing to her feet. She walked over and shook Loki's hand. "I'll see you next week, Loki. In the meantime, my advice to you is not to worry too much about getting worse. Worrying a lot will make it more likely to happen, because you'll stress yourself out. What you need to do is focus on what you enjoy, on rediscovering some peace, and get some rest and relaxation." She glanced at Tony and shook her head at his folly. "Take your time, take things slowly," she advised. "We have a long road ahead."

The Trickster nodded. "Agreed."

Bruce cleared his throat and stepped up, shaking Loki's hand firmly. "Take care, and good luck. We'll see you around."

Loki looked around at them all, a genuine smile lighting her features, almost enough to beat back the perpetual shroud of gloom. "Agreed." She stood very still. A sheath of dark mist spiralled around her, with a faint echo of the shrieking sound he'd summoned a few months ago with his portal. A twinkle of green shone through the cloud, then vanished. The magic faded away, taking Loki with it.

Natasha leaned over towards Tony. "You're not seriously considering dating Loki, are you?"

"Probably not, but _Lady_ Loki can be beguiling, you know. It doesn't hurt to keep the option open, does it?" He looked worriedly at Sarmit. "Does it?"

"Well, I'm not going to give you a free pass on that one, but perhaps you'll give the Lady something to think about and look forward to. Just try not to hurt her feelings, or his feelings, if it turns out the Lady isn't the only one that's interested." Natasha snorted, while Clint laughed out loud. Steve slapped both hands over his face, ears flaming red, though he didn't say anything. Steve was nothing if not tolerant, but there was no escaping his era of origin, and even after baby-sitting Loki for nigh half a year, gender-swapping alien relationships clearly did not fit into that era.

"You will let us know if anything happens, won't you, Doctor?" Bruce said worriedly. "If he misses an appointment or anything?"

"Of course. And I would greatly appreciate it if you people could come up with a way to commune with Asgard, preferably one more reliable than Mr. Stark's private beach."

"I'll ask Thor next time he contacts us. He said he'd check back in sometime this month, since we told him about the show."

"Good. With luck, we will be able to make some progress."

"How long will it take?"

"Years, if things go according to plan. Maybe never, if they don't. I have no idea how that magic is going to affect things going forward. Fortunately, despite Loki's warnings, I suspect neither does he. I choose to be optimistic."

"What if he's right, though? What if that stuff does cause him to fall apart more?"

"Then I expect we shall have a bigger problem on our hands then one fragile mind," Natasha suddenly said. "He's too powerful now. If he loses his grip and can no longer remain lucid and in control of his magic... We'll definitely need a way to get in touch with Asgard and get him off the planet. He said himself he melted the asteroids to glass in his anger. That was _focused_ anger. He could do the same here by accident. Asgard might not be able to contain him either, if that happens, but they should at least be able to help redirect his outbursts and get him out of here."

Clint nodded. "You are absolutely right, which is why we should be prepared to send him away _before_ that happens, if necessary. He won't object if he sees the problem coming."

"If he sees it coming, yes. But he might not see it coming. And it might not come. Make all the preparations you like, Avengers, anything you need to do to protect Earth, by all means. But don't count on him to help you if he gets sicker, and don't count on him getting sicker. He needs our support and faith in him in order to get better. Alright?" Suitably chastened, Natasha agreed, and saw the others nodding along as well. "Now then, I think I might go for a walk, since I find myself able to breathe." The doctor headed for the door.

"I'll come with you," Bruce said, "if you don't mind. It is lovely outside."

"So it is. Come along then, Dr. Banner."

He followed after her. "Didn't I tell you to call me Bruce?" he asked as they left.

After a moment, Steve said, "Well, I suppose I should pack so I can get back to DC at a reasonable hour. See you around Clint, Nat." He wandered off towards the bedrooms.

Natasha looked at Tony, who was pouring himself another drink. "Thanks for hosting," she said, and set out for the door. Clint murmured his own farewell and followed her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said as they waited for the elevator.

"They're the same as yours: 'I hope this works. I really don't want to watch him lose his mind completely.'"

"You forgot, 'I really don't want to fight him off if he does.'"

"Goes without saying."

"Of course, if he does get worse, we won't actually have to watch, probably. He'll get all paranoid again and hide from us until it's too late and there's nothing to save."

"Not helping, Clint."

"Sorry. See you later?"

"Maybe. I promised to meet up with Heather after her shift."

"Ah. Alright." They came to the exit and stepped out into a red sunset. "Don't worry about it too much, Nat. Look how well he did by himself these last few months. I bet with Sarmit's help, he'll be up for visiting Asgard soon."

"Maybe you're right."

Clint kissed her cheek and headed deeper into town. Natasha turned towards the river, killing time until Heather could meet her. She watched the sun slowly sinking into the city, and worried. She didn't know what was going to happen, and it seemed like there was nothing any of them could really do to help things along. In some ways, it seemed that Loki really was a lot better, but she had seen him acting that way before. She didn't know what to believe, really. It seemed inconceivable that the witty, articulate, and _functioning_ personality Loki had assumed today could ever successfully subsume the chaos that brewed beneath the surface of his thoughts. Even this Loki's pent-up horror over what his other self had done was frightening. She doubted years, even ten, even a hundred would be long enough for him to forgive himself for his actions. Natasha understood guilt and had eventually made peace with her own sins from her years as an impersonal assassin. But there was little more than a decade of red in her ledger. Loki had millennia to account for, including infanticide and nearly successful patricide now. It was hard to get more conflicted than that.

 _One step at a time_ , she thought as she paced the boardwalk. Loki would be seeing Sarmit regularly again now. Unless the doctor raised the alarm, Natasha would not worry.

The sun thinned to a golden sliver shouldered between skyscrapers, the sky a brilliant crimson around it. She stopped walking to watch. Remarkably, she saw a green flash just as it vanished. Grinning, she kept walking. She shouldn't be able to see "the green flash" in NYC. That was a thing for west-facing coasts, not a cityscape horizon. But green was always welcome. Green was uncorrupted. Green was good. It was the empty, devouring black she feared, and that was rapidly overtaking the eastern skies. It was remarkable really, how so much could happen and yet leave so little real change, she mused. Although he had healed a lot, Loki was simply returning to his normal: viable, but brittle. All of the Avengers were slowly getting over their own little traumas from the war, even her. Asgard was slowly rebuilding. Heather was soon to finish her double-duty penalty for failing to report Loki's whereabouts to SHIELD and would soon resume a normal schedule. Sarmit was getting over her cough, with a little magical help, Nat reminded herself with a smile. Eventually though, some other calamity would probably befall them, and knock Loki back twelve steps again, and the healing would have to start anew. Night swallowed day, swallowed night, swallowed day. Their only real hope, then, was that when the next midnight struck, it wasn't Ragnarok, and they wouldn't need to start a fire and offer a precious sacrifice to summon back the dawn.

Nat sighed, and kept walking on.

* * *

Steve glanced out the window overlooking the city. He had imagined something green flashing in the corner of his eye, but there was nothing but the setting sun and the haze of pollution. Determinedly, he kept shoving his things into his bag. He was just jumpy. It was sad, really, how simple _green_ could disturb him now. It shouldn't be that way; he liked Loki. But he had spoken with Frigga again before his return from Asgard. He had promised the queen to watch for Loki, listened as she finally described her glimpses of the apocalypse in full, because someone needed to know, someone who could monitor the situation more objectively. Someone needed to know, because the first visions had come true during the Battle of Asgard, first when Loki "held midnight in his darkening hands" as he absorbed Thanos' magic, second with his attack on Odin. The poor queen had panicked and nearly died herself when she glimpsed her husband's mangled state, simply because she had seen it before, in another age. She was utterly relieved when he wasn't actually dead.

For months, Steve had been trying not to think about all Frigga had told him, but it was just a delaying tactic. Today, Steve had been hoping to be reassured. But now, he was still so uncertain. Loki seemed unchanged, but there was still a huge, looming risk that he was planning something, or that he would lose it. Steve could watch for the signs, but there was nothing really for him to _do_ about it. He knew the future he wanted to avoid, but there was no way to know how to avoid it. There would be wars supposedly, but there were always wars in the realms, nothing new there. As for Loki's part in Ragnarok, suppose the god did start to reach out to his older children again? Steve would be inclined to interpret it as a good thing, but what if that was how Loki's anger and thirst for vengeance rekindled? Or suppose he was barred from freeing them, and _that_ was what did it? Or suppose he became so desperate to die and reunite with Hela and Njalli and the others despite his "curse" that he ended up magically overturning the natural order and allowed the living and dead to mingle that way?

Worrying about the endless possibilities was giving Steve headaches almost daily. He knew it wasn't helping, but he also couldn't resist the urge to think about it. All he could do was repeat over and over what Dr. Erskine had told him when as a young man, Steve Rogers was undergoing the preparations to become Captain America: "Whatever happens tomorrow you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man." If something came up with Loki, then he would be there, but he would try to do what seemed morally _right_ , not be governed by uncertain guidance from the future or the calculated wagers of the government.

At least, that was the plan.

Hopefully, when the next calamity came and Loki had another setback, it wouldn't be Ragnarok. Hopefully, in the years to come, things really would settle down, and Steve would never be in the position of making a decision that might bring about the end of the world.

 **Author's Note: there is one last chapter coming up in this story. I must warn you, I have zero intention of wrapping everything up in a nice little bow, because I don't think that's particularly true to the themes of this story. Also, writing endings sucks. However, in light of this, I am also planning a chapter of omake snippets, some humorous, some serious, so if there was anything you were particularly wanting to hear about, feel free to let me know in a review, and I may write a little something about it!**


	27. Into the Night

**"A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead."**

 **\- Graham Greene, _The End of the Affair_**

Loki didn't go to the gallery after leaving Stark Tower. She wasn't actually needed there, nor even Locke. In fact, it would be completely within Locke's mercurial character to miss several nights of the show. Loki prowled the streets instead. Even though pedestrians frequently crossed the street the instant they saw her and subconsciously sensed her accursed aura, Loki still liked being surrounded by people. It made it easier to ignore the others' voices, or thoughts, rather. Being lost in a crowd was almost like being truly alone.

 _\- Why is she going this way? The gallery is downtown_

 _\- This still isn't Asgard. Where am I?_

 _\- Flickering lights and shadow... is this a dream?_

 _\- I wish it was a dream. I wish it was all a dream. I wish none of this had happened. I wish I had died as an infant in Jotunheim_

Loki sighed at the intrusions. A distraction was needed. She tentatively reached for the sharp edges of her magic and successfully transformed herself into the appearance of a human female. She paused to admire her reflection in a storefront window. It was passable, though not quite what she had intended. A little too untame in the eye. Too tall and a little gawky. She was out of practice. But she smiled lazily at the next gentleman she passed; he seemed to appreciate her efforts, favoring her with a familiar smirk. It was pleasing.

 _He'd be dead the instant he tried anything._ Loki stalked down the street wearing a sullen glare. As soon as he could, he ducked into an alley and allowed the glamour to lapse, glad his other self hadn't actually changed their body while she was in control. But by the Norns, if _that_ was her idea of a good time, he would have to put his foot down.

 _\- Honestly, I wasn't even planning anything... I'll admit he wasn't as handsome as Master Stark, but he wasn't_ that _bad._

Loki snorted at her whine and continued his purposeful pace, even though he wasn't going anywhere. He had half a mind to cause some mischief for "Master Stark" now, were it not for his fear that such an action would only give the Lady a reason to spend more time with Tony later.

- _I like Tony_

 _\- So do I_

 _\- Everyone likes Tony. He's divertingly jocular_

 _\- Though I can't say I fancy him quite that way_

Loki slowed as he neared a cinema, wondering if the mindless noise and witless plots these humans so optimistically called "entertainment" might quell the others for a time. He veered around towards the side of the building, seeing no reason to use the front entrance and pay for a ticket if he didn't have to. (This was Midgard. He didn't have to.) He noticed a couple of beggars huddling around a likely illegal trash fire; he supposed it was still cold by Midgardian standards.

He caught a whiff of smoke and shrank into the shadows of the old brick building. The urge to leap forward and put out that wretched fire was strong. The urge to run into the suffocating arms of the Void and hide from all these prying eyes was stronger. The bitter taste of cowardice and overwhelming inertia had the victory, paralyzing him. Loki slouched against the rough bricks and allowed his eyes to fall out of focus as vivid and unwanted memory swept over him with the force of a tidal wave. The scent of smoke and death, distant screams and thunder, an unholy heat permeating his being...

\- _Should we intervene?_

 _\- You could try_

 _\- No, let him be. He'll snap out of it_

 _\- This is boring_

 _\- What's wrong with my eyes?_

 _\- Is something burning?_

 _\- What is this... memory? Did something happen to Papa?_

 _\- The dream becomes stranger, or perhaps less creative_

 _\- Why does everyone always talk at once? And who are you people?_

"Hello? Sir? Are you ok? You just collapsed." Loki recognized the human who was speaking. He had seen the man before, though he couldn't imagine when he would have. The man had been standing at a fire in a metal barrel somewhere, with a couple other human men. Loki looked around. There was the barrel, and there were the other two men, watching him. For the life of him, Loki couldn't remember why he was on Midgard. He thought he had been here for a while now, but the days were such a blur. He thought he remembered being sick, and maybe having an argument with Thor, but it was all so confusing. Too many conflicting thoughts and impossible memories kept vying for acknowledgment. It was also really hard to remember properly when people kept whispering around him. He didn't remember getting his Mother's permission to practice telepathy, but maybe he had tried anyways and made a mistake, and that's why he kept hearing what seemed to be other people's thoughts. Well, he'd better leave the humans so he could contact Heimdall and get back. He'd explain to Mother, and she would scold him, but she would forgive him and take the infernal voices away. She could do anything.

"Yes, sorry to alarm you. I'm fine. I tripped," Loki lied smoothly as he climbed to his feet, resisting the sudden urge to grin at telling a falsehood. He waved to the three humans and trudged off, senses alert to Heimdall's sight. It seemed Heimdall wasn't looking for him here though; he'd have to find something to amuse himself while he waited for the Gatekeeper to notice him. He did grin then, and he started skipping as he rounded the corner of the building and entered another broad avenue bordering a park. It had been such a tiny little lie, but those were really the most fun, Loki had found in his short years. Thor was always impressed by his brother's ease with lying. Or maybe he actually disapproved, and that's what they had argued about... Tricking people was fun, but it did seem to annoy and confuse them after a while. Loki would work on being more honest with Thor and his parents in the future, he decided. He didn't want to make them doubt him when he was grown up. It was important for them to know how much he loved them, that they could always count on him. He slowed down and stopped to sit on a bench, thinking hard. He needed a plan to prove himself. He didn't know why it suddenly seemed so important, but he knew he was right. But it was hard to come up with something. He was best at being sneaky, and that didn't really seem appropriate. He needed to figure out how to... be more like Thor.

\- _This is like stepping back in time and taking our madness along. I hate it_

 _\- Sadly, he is far better than most of you at articulating his goals, though. Start taking notes_

 _\- He'll be so disappointed when he figures it out_

 _\- No, he is already disappointed. That's why he's so insistent, so quietly frantic. That's why he's sitting here almost hyperventilating and deforming the bench with his hands_

Loki sprang up. The voices knew too much. He started running.

- _Calm down. We aren't telepaths listening in. We're... your older selves_

 _\- I don't think_ all _of us count as the god of lies, somehow. That was a poor excuse for an explanation_

 _\- What was that?_

 _\- Ow_

 _\- Pain is an illusion, and It will not be fooled_

 _\- I cannot get away from them!_

 _\- A green fireball in the middle of Manhattan. Subtle_

 _\- At least it was green_

 _\- You see, this is why it's a_ good _thing if we spend a lot of time with Tony. It'll help us stay focused, and out of traffic lanes_

 _\- Cold!_

 _\- Wet_

 _\- Weightless_

 _\- Unsanitary_

 _\- Safe_

 _\- ...I can't breathe._

 _\- I don't need to breathe. Or eat. Or sleep_

 _\- Actually, we do need to do all those things for the sake of sanity and physical comfort, if not for strict vital necessity. I doubt Dr. Sarmit would approve of our current situation if she knew about it_

 _\- I must sleep, but I can't sleep_

 _\- I won't argue there_

 _\- I can relax_

 _\- Just follow the current_

 _\- It's a pretty fast current; I'm already in the bay, I think_

 _\- The opposite of good is drowning_

 _\- Ah..."here, some bolt of truth forking across the water,_  
 _an ultimate Light before all the lights go out,_  
 _dawning on you with all its megalithic tonnage -_

 _\- "But if something does flash before your eyes_  
 _as you go under, it will probably be a fish,_

 _-"a quick blur of curved silver darting away,_  
 _having nothing to do with your life or your death._  
 _The tide will take you, or the lake will accept it all_  
 _as you sink toward the weedy disarray of the bottom,_  
 _leaving behind what you have already forgotten -_

 _\- "the surface, now overrun with the high travel of clouds."_

 _\- Billy Collins, The Art of Drowning_

 _\- Meh. "I to the world am like a drop of water_  
 _That in the ocean seeks another drop,_  
 _Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,_  
 _Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:_  
 _So I, to find a mother and a brother,_  
 _In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself."_

 _\- William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors_

 _\- Yes, better_

 _\- Both _irrelevant, if you think about it. We can no longer even_ pretend _to be insignificant__

 _\- Water engulfing /silent voices murmuring /ne'er am I alone_

 _\- If only, if only_

 _-"the woodpecker cried"?_

"Father?" The voice was a mental projection like the others, but it came from outside, for a change.

Loki opened his eyes to the gloom of ocean water at night. He couldn't see anything. He was completely disoriented, truly. He had no idea how far he had drifted after the Child had cast himself into the river. It might have been yards or miles, minutes or hours. He had no idea how deep he was. It was hard to tell when the mind became jumbled and let the body drift. This must be what the others felt like every time they took control. He remembered the feeling from the time when he was only Prince. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Mind Stone, gently drawing on its calming power to soothe his other selves. With a touch of encouragement, the Stone glowed brighter, casting golden shafts of light down, down to the murky depths. And also up to the surface maybe ten feet above where he floated. The light reflected off a pair of snake-like eyes about thirty feet ahead of him. Loki inhaled seawater in shock, then absentmindedly refashioned his neck to house some comfortable gills. He knew those eyes. They belonged to a son he hadn't seen in years.

Another awareness deep within himself struggled to come forward, but Loki squelched it down firmly. That was the mind that believed he was a water-sprite, and a sea-serpent his son's natural, original form. It was a comforting delusion, Loki supposed, which was why that mind existed, knowing only Jormungand of all his children. The delusion meant Jormungand was not cursed at all, merely confined to a specific habitat by his nature. There was a similar delusional identity claiming Sleipnir as his only son, and one for Fenrir, but both of those had a harder time rationalizing away the abuse Odin had imposed on the boys.

Loki swam forward, the head of the gargantuan serpent drifting forth to meet him. He reached out a hand to caress the hard scales of his son's snout. "Hello, my darling. It's been a while."

Jormungand coiled around him once, loosely: his awkward attempt at an embrace. "Eleven winters. I'm glad you're back. Hela visited a few months ago and told me what you have been doing." A soft vibration passed through his massive body, which Loki recognized as a sign of satisfaction. "I met my little brother. He was nice. I wish I could have met him as a living creature."

Loki frowned. "I wish that too. I would have come to see you with him, and summoned Hela."

"Don't dwell on it, Father. It is well enough that you are recovered."

Not that he was particularly recovered. But such morbid news could wait. Loki preferred not to saddle his children with his own griefs if he could avoid it. On the other hand... "I'm going to free you," he whispered, tracing his son's scales.

Jormungand jerked his head up slightly. "How do you mean? Have you found the way?"

"Not yet, but I will. I have the power, now, and I don't think Asgard will dare stop me..."

"Why not?" His son's voice was suspicious. None of his children had any love for Asgard any more, unlike their father. The realization was bittersweet. But after all, _freedom_ from Asgard, freedom from the past, not necessarily complete reconciliation, was what they all needed, and what all but he would get, he decided. His children would have little thirst for vengeance in the joy of their release, so long as no one led them to it. He hoped.

"Many lies now are exposed between the Allfather and myself, many wrongs settled, one way or another, and he has relinquished all claim on me. Guilt is a powerful emotion, far more so than you would realize, my angel. Odin's guilt and Thor's guilt will hold them in check for a long time. Perhaps we may even save your brothers, too."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. Midgard is fairly comfortable, and I have business here for a while, but we could go anywhere."

The serpent head roved slow circles around him. "I think I'd like to be a boy again, even if just for a little bit. I barely remember what it was like. Do you think I would come back young or grown up?"

"I- I don't know. It has been so long... I would love to give you the chance to grow up again, but I would be happy to see you free to be yourself either way. I'd be happy even if you still spent most of your time here, just knowing you didn't have to be if you didn't want to."

Jormungand splashed playfully. "I probably would still swim a lot. I wouldn't know what to do on land any more. I hope you can rescue Fenrir, too. He needs you more than I do, and he doesn't get to see you, like I do."

"My darling boy, you are too good a brother, after all this time."

Jormungand's head drifted downwards, back towards the depths. "I learned from the best, Father. I look forward to seeing you again, but you are busy on the surface, I think. Go back up now. I will come when you are ready."

"I love you," Loki called after him.

"And I love you," his child replied, simply.

Slowly, Loki began his laborious journey back to the coast. Part of him was thinking about how to break the spells holding Jormungand, Fenrir, and Sleipnir at last. Part of him was worrying about preventing hostilities with Asgard once he did break the spells. Part of him was thinking about how they could live together as a family in New York, and how he would protect his family in the future. Part of him was wondering what they would look like all grown up; both Sleipnir and Jormungand in particular had been so young when they were imprisoned. Part of him was wondering whether his sons would approve of Tony Stark.

Another part of him was thinking of what Jormungand had said at the end of their conversation, that he had learned to be a good brother... from him? Besides him and Hela, his son didn't actually get any other visitors that he knew of. From that thought, he started thinking about Thor. And from thinking of Thor came thinking of Frigga and Odin, a great well of tangled thoughts and feelings dredging up from the depths of his mind, where the Odinson dwelled. It was far too early to consider seeing them again, but he wanted to, in the future. Sometime. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to rail at them some more. He wanted to bow down and plead forgiveness for his unpalatable sins. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted assurances he would be left alone. He wanted to see them all. He didn't want to be seen.

Loki hauled himself out of the harbor, wrinkling his nose at the stench of filth clinging to him. A quick spell made him dry again, though still reeking of seaweed and less appealing contaminants. Another spell sent him home to Locke's flat, where he quickly washed up. He would think more later. For now, he would waste a couple hours failing to rest. Then he would work on plans for Jormungand and worry, quietly, until Locke came back.

He stilled.

All of that had to wait.

He remembered what Dr. Sarmit had told him. _Don't_ worry. Search for peace. Rest. Relax. Have fun. A fine start he was off to, he thought wryly, but he trusted the little doctor like he trusted no other. She was the first being that had attempted to understand him for his sake. She of all his acquaintances refused to judge him for any of his glaring faults. She stood up to his anger with words alone. Her words, he knew, were the lifeline that stayed LOJ from even greater violence back on Asgard that fateful day. When she said his own peace should be his top priority in all of this, he believed her.

He would try it her way.

Now then, in order to rest, he must relax. In order to relax, he must first have some tranquility, and in order to find tranquility, he must first quell his anxieties and find something soothing to distract himself.

He cast about, snatched up one of Locke's sketchpads and a pencil, and sat down on the only chair not covered in papers and books. He thought for a moment, then hesitantly, even a little dubiously, began to draw. He wasn't drawing anything in particular, just lines. Curves and angles. With a grin, he added some pleasing elements of sacred geometry, then duplicated his progress on the opposite half of the paper. Symmetry was beautiful. As much as he could, he focused on his work. He was pleased to discover that the others seemed content merely to watch his progress, only occasionally offering comments and suggestions. Perhaps they, too, had been a little shaken by the encounters on their random walk this evening, and that's why they were willing to go along with him.

After an hour or so of meticulous work, one page was completely full. He started another, moving to the floor so he could lay the papers next to each other and continue the same design. By the time his eyelids finally began to droop, seven pages were filled with crisp lines, completing a delightful, spiralling fractal. It didn't mean anything, but he was filled with an immense sense of accomplishment nonetheless, just for sitting still so long. Rather than get up and move the piles of junk off Locke's bed, Loki simply curled up on the floor, turning off the lights with a thought, and a flinch. He was tired. At the moment, sleep seemed suspiciously within reach. Today was finished. Tomorrow, maybe Locke would awaken again, or else he would spend the day working on a spell for Jormungand before going back to the gallery.

- _Tomorrow_

 _\- "And tomorrow, and tomorrow -_

 _\- "Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,_

 _To the last syllable of recorded time;_

 _And all our yesterdays have lighted fools_

 _The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!_

 _Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,_

 _That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,_

 _And then is heard no more. It is a tale_

 _Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury -_

 _\- "Signifying nothing."_

 _\- Macbeth. How apropos_

Loki shivered, and sighed, and started worrying again. Sleepless he would be, then. But at least he had relaxed for a little while first. _One step at a time._

- _"Step follows step. Hope follow courage. Set your face towards danger. Set your heart on victory"_

Loki smiled. _Thankyou, Lady_ , he thought, remembering when he first read that book. Last year, waiting for Njalli to arrive in a few months... hoping for a daughter, a little princess, then.

- _I think I might have mentioned, I'm a better mother than the rest of you. Let us sleep_

\- _Agreed_

Someone recalled the memory of a lullaby, sung to Meira. They all listened. Loki finally slept, and, amazingly, failed to dream. He would awaken well-rested for the first time in months, ready to begin the long, winding, treacherous, and ill-paved road that led, eventually, to healing and redemption.

* * *

 _Fin_

* * *

 **Author's note: THE END. Maybe not the best of all possible endings, but if I were to continue, it would inevitably be starting a whole new story, which I am not inclined to do, sorry.**

 **Final thoughts? Comments? Complaints? Let me know! In other news, this is your LAST CHANCE to request something for the upcoming OMAKE CHAPTER, so if there's something you were dying to see, now is the time to tell me. Among the omakes are several which function as epilogues, which may help give the closure some of you desire.**

 **Trivia: all the random references in this chapter, in order of appearance: an article from NPR's blog covering the 89th Academy Awards, The Toast's "Children's Stories Made Horrific: Curious George," Billy Collin's "The Art of Drowning," Shakespeare _All's Well That Ends Well_ , Louis Sachar's _Holes,_ Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ , and Gail Carson Levine's _Two Princesses of Bamarre._**

 **Edit: reposted because did a weirdness. Expect the omake chapter in about a week.**


	28. Hypothetically Speaking

**If they all lived happily ever after...**

Loki enjoyed traveling via the Bifrost for a change. Usually, he just used his own magic (he had, in the decades since his "contamination," grown somewhat accustomed to the obligatory burning in his brain and could _almost_ ignore it). This time though, he was bringing his precious ones to Asgard as well, and he would never risk letting the Void get its ravenous clutches on them. The four of them materialized at the entrance to the rebuilt Observatory, Loki with little Asa in front, Fenrir and Jormungand holding hands behind their father. Both of the boys had returned to him apparently the same physical age as they had been when Odin first cast his curses on them, Jormungand about ten, Fenrir fifteen. A thousand years of solitude had made them only too eager to return to their father's total care at first. Fortunately, three years of peace on Midgard and another baby brother had done much for their self-confidence. This year, the boys had finally gotten to know Thor and Frigga again. Today was the final step, facing and making peace with the grandfather who had almost ended their lives.

Loki acknowledged Heimdall's bow, then looked beyond the Gatekeeper to the other end of the hall. The doors opened, and Frigga practically flew forward, admiring Asa and expressing wonder at how the toddler had grown in the bare weeks since she had seen him last on Midgard. Loki smiled uncomfortably but didn't put the child down. Asa had no such inhibitions and chortled delightedly at his grandmother's enthusiastic greeting. Thor stepped up an instant behind the queen, tickled his youngest nephew's feet, then moved past to greet Loki's elder sons. Loki turned slightly, the urge to supervise too strong to deny. Then he smiled. Thor had brought gifts. Candy, to be precise. Despite Loki's best efforts in the past year or so, both his sons refused to give up their taste for sweets, having been deprived for so long. Jormungand was already gnawing on a delicate morsel of Asgardian saltwater taffy. Fenrir was practically salivating over the honey-mead liqueurs Thor was waving under his nose.

Loki heard the _tap tap tap_ of a staff on stone and turned back around, smile catching slightly, to see his father approaching, a raven on his shoulder and a dark band over his eyes. As always, Loki was struck by how old the Allfather seemed now. Try as he might, Loki still pictured Odin as a towering, terrifying figure in his mind. That or a burned and broken thing barely clinging to life in his fading nightmares. Neither image matched the stooped, scarred, white-haired, and slow old man walking towards them. Two worried hands squirmed into the creases of his elbows, Fenrir's on the right and Jormungand's on the left. Reluctantly, Loki allowed Frigga to take Asa, rather than risk dropping him as the elder children clawed for his attention. It felt like his heart had climbed into his mouth as the queen took hold of his baby, but he knew in his head that Asa would be absolutely fine. Fenrir and Jormungand needed him more at the moment. He lifted his arms slightly, and suppressed a wince as his sons' limbs snaked around his, hands clasping and squeezing tight enough to turn his fingers white. He pulled them both close to him, trying to reassure them a little, not that he expected such small measures to help. After all, Loki knew exactly what the boys were feeling. He had only recently mastered his own fear and hate for the Allfather. There were no magic words or even tricks with the Mind Stone to eliminate the unwanted, crippling emotions afflicting this family. Only time.

Resolutely, Loki stepped forward, dragging Fenrir and Jormungand, both trembling slightly, along with him. Odin stopped about three feet away. "Hello Loki," he said softly. Huginn the raven looked from side to side. "Hello Fenrir. Hello Jormungand. I am glad to meet you again, and I am so sorry for what you have been through. I wish I could undo it."

No one said anything for a moment, except Asa, babbling away behind them. "Hello, Father," Loki finally answered.

Slowly, Odin reached out a hand. Loki felt his sons shrink back, but he stepped forward again, and touched his father's fingers. Immediately, Odin's hand felt its way up his arm to cup his face, tracing his features. The Allfather's face broke into a wide smile. Loki bit the inside of his lip, feeling guilty. Technically, Odin could "see" through his servants Huginn and Munin, but at their last few encounters, with Loki's permission, Odin had taken to a more physical interaction with him, confessing to Loki that only through touch did things really seem real any more. Still, although he had watched Thor responding to Odin in kind, and seen the comfort it brought the king, Loki couldn't bring himself to place his fingers anywhere near Odin's head. He couldn't risk touching the terrible scars his hands had inflicted.

Intentionally diverting his attention from that particular memory, Loki instead reached back and pulled his sons forward. Odin carefully took each boy's hand, then pulled them both into an awkward hug. This lasted longer than Loki had expected: almost ten seconds before Fenrir pulled away and retreated back to Loki, Jormungand close behind him. Odin sighed, but smiled. "Thank you all for coming. It is more than we had any right to expect."

Loki had to stop himself (or more precisely, his other self) from nodding along with that sentiment and bit back a sigh. The others always acted up more when he was in Asgard. "This day has been a long time coming," he temporized. "Shall we?" He looked over to Thor and Frigga, where his brother was playing peekaboo with a completely unimpressed Asa. Frigga met his eyes with a knowing smile. The queen walked forward and offered her hands to Fenrir and Jormungand.

"We have quite the party planned for you, sweetlings, and Thor is dying to give you a tour of the palace, if you are willing." Loki smiled encouragingly at the boys, though there was a treacherous flutter in his heart at the thought of them potentially exploring Asgard without him. The trio led the way forward, followed by Thor and Asa. Jormungand suddenly sped up with a wordless exclamation, practically dragging his wary brother and laughing grandmother along behind him. Loki suspected he had caught a whiff of Asgard's ocean and wanted to swim. For his part, Asa seemed much more enthusiastic about Thor's Bouncing Up and Down While Walking game than he had about peekaboo.

Cautiously, Loki offered his arm to the Allfather, who took it gratefully. They walked out of the Observatory to the Causeway, watching the family antics ahead of them with matching smiles. As they entered the bright sunlight, Odin spoke, casually. "I finished reviewing the notes you gave me for the spell you devised to undo the bindings on Fenrir and Jormungand. So did Frigga."

Loki stopped and stared, hope swelling within him like a spring tide. Odin grinned. "With a few adjustments, we will, together, be able to undo the spells on Sleipnir as well."

With a sob, Loki found himself on the ground, overwhelmed with relief. Odin crouched beside him, hugging him tightly. Three years ago, Loki had finally figured out how to break the spell on Jormungand, a spell which was never made to be removed, even by the original caster. A few months later he had successfully adapted it to free Fenrir as well. But as soon as he had stolen into Asgard in the dead of night to see to his eldest son, he knew this magic would be insufficient. The spells on Sleipnir were myriad and complex, one to bind his form, one to bind his magic, one to bind his mind, one to bind his loyalty... the list went on. Each was cemented in place, apparently forever, with the Seal of Yggdrasil. He had despaired of ever knowing Sleipnir again. That is, he despaired until he finally revealed his work to Asgard and enlisted the very sorcerer who had cast the curses in the first place and now repented all: Odin.

"Shh... All will be well, my son."

"Thank you. Thank you..."

"I have no right to your thanks, Loki. This is but another part of the great debt I still owe to you and yours."

"No, Father. You are forgiven. I mean, it is still hard sometimes, but you owe me nothing, now. Especially after this."

Odin kissed his forehead. "I think in this, we will have to agree to disagree. Your loss is too great for me to ever make it up to you, even if you are possessed of sufficient grace to forgive my sins."

Loki snorted softly and didn't answer. He climbed to his feet, helping his father up as well. Forgiving Odin was, in the end, quite easy, compared to forgiving himself. His hands were the truly murderous ones, after all. He may be nervous now, with his children loose in Asgard, but when Asa was born, he had actually attempted to give the baby to the Avengers rather than risk raising it, and harming it, himself. They had eventually talked him into a compromise of moving into Tony's tower temporarily, where they could all stay together for the first few months.

Shouts and laughter carried over to them on the wind from where Jormungand and Fenrir were splashing in the surf by the Causeway, and Loki had to smile again. The boys had loved living with the Avengers, he remembered, and it had been good for them, as they learned to go out and about without Loki for a change. He sighed contentedly. At long last, everything was falling into place. He squeezed Odin's hand. "Can we go to him now, before the feast?"

"Unfortunately, we will have to wait until moonrise to commence the spell," Odin said gently, understanding instantly what Loki was talking about. "But we can visit now, if you want to."

Loki nodded, but then thought better of it. "No. I will face Sleipnir again when I am come to free him, not before." He didn't want to see the magnificent, docile _pet_ his eldest had become in his centuries of captivity.

"Tonight, then," Odin said firmly.

The two walked together in companionable silence all the way to the city, parting at the gates only because Asa was getting sleepy and fussy with the relative strangers.

That night, celebrating Sleipnir's return after the successful conclusion of hours of painstaking sorcery, Odin summoned Hela as well, and they all enjoyed a final long-awaited reunion, with the entire family under one roof for the very first time. It was, in a word, wonderful.

* * *

 **If Hela visited for family therapy...**

Three Aesir and a Jotun sat in Dr. Sarmit's conference room at her office, at the far opposite sides of the long table. Odin was working meticulously on a summoning spell, his wife periodically needed to guide his blind fingers through the precise motions. Slowly, a shadow took shape in the air before him. This resolved eventually into the towering form of a regal queen, crowned with silver and emeralds, clothed all in black, with long, dark hair streaming down her back. One side of her body was pale and perfect, the other a dry husk, with a yellow flame instead of her green eye. She glared at Asgard's king, ignoring anyone else in the room entirely. "Why do _you_ summon me to Midgard, Allfather? Speak quickly or I shall soon be gone."

Loki cleared his throat behind her. "Because I asked him to, dearest, since I cannot, now." Startled, Hela spun around to stare delightedly at her father. Without a word, she ran to his arms. Strangely, she seemed to shrink as she neared him, losing her maturity to become a child again. He hugged her tight for a moment, then offered her the seat next to him. She grinned and climbed onto his lap instead. Loki did not object and held her close. Everyone smiled.

Dr. Sarmit sighed in satisfaction at the lovely family reunion. "I'm glad to see you again, Hela. I was hoping you could attend some of our sessions, at least... Before we begin, though, forgive my curiosity, I simply must ask... You appeared as a grown woman, at first...?"

Hela looked on smugly as the human searched for words, but answered the unarticulated question anyways. "I will always be Daddy's little girl." Loki kissed the top of her head.

* * *

 **If things went south with Fenrir and Jormungand...**

Steve knocked on the door to Loki's seaside cottage and waited anxiously for several minutes. It was over a month since the Avengers had lost contact with Loki. Natasha had gone to check on him at his NYC apartment as soon as he had missed an appointment with Dr. Sarmit. From the looks of things, though, he hadn't actually been there in months. Tony had notified Thor, who also had not heard from Loki and was similarly stumped. Then, yesterday, Steve had gotten an anonymous note, slipped under his door, telling him Loki's whereabouts, and telling him to come alone.

The door opened. Steve couldn't help but stare in shock. It wasn't Loki. It was a young man, tall and thin, with Loki's eyes, and the faint pattern of scales twisting along his arms and neck. It was Jormungand, Steve was sure. He didn't know what to think. He was overjoyed to see the child's unjust sentence overturned, although it seemed unlikely that Asgard knew about it. He was nervous to think what this might mean in terms of the fragmented and contradictory prophesies lurking in the back of his head.

Jormungand awkwardly held out a hand to him. "Thank you for coming, Captain. I'm Jormungand. I- um... Father's having issues." His accent was odd, his phrasing hesitant, as if he wasn't quite comfortable forming the words. Steve shook his hand, and allowed himself to be drawn into the house.

The kitchen/dining room was spotless and bright with natural light from the huge bay windows, appropriately facing the beach. There was no sign of anyone actually cooking, though. There was no sign of Loki, either. "It's good to meet you, Jormungand. You look a lot like your picture."

The young man started in distraction. "You have seen an image of _me_?"

"Loki painted it ages ago, along with some of your siblings, but I'm afraid it burnt up a few years ago."

"Oh. I would have liked to have a reminder of who I used to be."

At the crestfallen look in his eyes, Steve was sorry he'd brought it up. But, "Maybe you could ask Loki to paint another one for you sometime."

Jormungand smiled sadly. "That might be a little hard at the moment." He gestured towards the stairs visible in the other room and led Steve deeper into the house. "My father determined the proper spell to free my magic about six months ago. That's when he acquired this house for us." He grinned briefly. "He knew I would want to stay close to my oceans." His grin faded. "We were doing so well. He always said the doctor thought so as well. But we wanted to rescue Fenrir too."

"And he couldn't figure out that spell? Was it that much different from the one used on you?"

"Oh, no. It was essentially the same. The problem was with Fenrir himself... Except for Hela, who is immune to the strictures of Asgard, my brother has received no visitors to his prison in a thousand years, Captain. I at least had occasional visits from Father, the company of dumb creatures, and freedom of movement. Fenrir was chained alone in utter darkness, without reprieve. He... forgot himself. When Father freed me, I couldn't wait to change my form again, to speak with a living voice again. Learn your language, too. When he freed Fenrir a month ago, my brother... he attacked Father."

"Is he hurt badly?" Steve asked as they reached the top of the stairs. That would certainly explain things.

Jormungand shook his head. "Not anymore. He heals fast. But now, he can't let it go." He carefully opened the door at the end of the hallway. The room was a large study, directly over the kitchen, Steve thought, with a matching big bay window. The glass was completely covered with miniscule scribbling, as were the walls. Piles of notes littered every flat surface in the room, and Steve noticed multiple pencils, pens, and sticks of chalk all around the room moving seemingly of their own accord, adding to the compendium. In a far corner, Loki slouched on the floor, staring listlessly at the nearest pencil furiously working its way through a spiral-bound notebook. He was turning the Mind Stone over and over in his hands. He didn't look up as they entered the room.

"Fenrir's just running feral in the caves below Asgard, now," Jormungand whispered. "Father's trying to devise another kind of spell to retrieve his memories, or to wipe the slate clean, or both, or sometimes other options I don't quite understand. But he's making no headway at all as far as I can tell, and I'm worried about him. He doesn't make any sense when he talks. He never leaves this room. I didn't know what to do, but he kept track of all the Avengers' locations. He seems to trust you people, so I figured you, as their Captain, would be the best one to come."

"We need Dr. Sarmit," Steve said immediately, aghast at what had happened.

"I was worried if she came first, she might get hurt. He's dangerous to regular humans right now, I think."

"You're probably right about that, but we still need her." Steve picked his way into the room. He knelt down in front of Loki and reached out a hand. As soon as his hand broke the god's line of sight with the little notebook and its blur of a pencil, Loki's manic eyes shot up to meet his with a menacing glare, and a scorching pain burned through his fingers. Steve quickly withdrew his hand again, and Loki returned to the business before him. "Loki, it's Steve. Your son contacted me. He's worried about you." When Loki didn't answer, Steve reached around the notebook and touched his arm instead. He was too warm, though Steve couldn't begin to guess if it was from true fever or an effect of his magic.

Loki blinked and started muttering to himself very fast. "Something someone touched foolish idiot stupid NO d _raumstafir_ will work might work with diminution to the fifth degree no sixth you fool stop it stop talking it's distracting shut up doesn't matter never finish anyways was that Captain Steve America Rogers yes no doesn't know use your eyes no for our purposes helicity and chirality are the same oh use secondary- _lasabrjotur_ brilliant no it won't work it might SILENCE!" The last word was a shout, before he abruptly clammed up again.

"What?" Steve said, flummoxed.

"Shut up shut up shut up shut up I told you it was Steve go away I'm busy shouldn't be here no one must know don't tell Thor-"

"I won't tell Thor."

"There you go Jor is safe now shut it and let me concentrate doesn't matter never find the solution not if you keep interrupting no I can't believe this is happening this cannot be happening isn't fair too late to have such hopes crushed _the miserable have no other medicine but only hope_ enough with the Shakespeare Measure for Measure we know shut up _double double toil and_ Macbeth has nothing to do with the work let me be let us help can't help of course we can we are you no distractions I do not need a break can aid problem solving a break in the pattern yes no that makes no sense does if you integrate the Logos and Ethos tried that thirteen days ago now be QUIET!"

..."Loki, you're not going to save Fenrir this way."

"No." Loki squeezed his eyelids shut, all the little tapping sounds of busy writing around the room falling still for a moment. " _No_ ," he repeated, with more determination, as his bloodshot eyes flashed open again and he resumed working.

"Loki, talk to me."

"How does he expect to hold a conversation with all of us at once he might understand I doubt it should take turns I'm going first be quiet no one is speaking shouldn't be distraction don't any of you care about our son how dare you no son not Father oh Mother Father how could you do this to my darling oh Norns oh fire damnation and Void and breaking atrocity burning calamity disaster evil eye YES the web of the evil eye might actually be useful for catching and holding him long enough to thank you now please stop he said please, PLEASE."

Steve gave up. Loki was so focused on his interior thought and magic, now, that control of his body was apparently no longer a priority for any personality. They were all speaking randomly, at least when provoked. He looked back at Jormungand, standing by the door, arms hugged about himself, looking utterly lost. Steve couldn't imagine what this was like for him. He had been just a kid when he was banished from home and civilization. He didn't know how to handle normal behavior, let alone the madness now consuming his Father, his sole point of contact with the rest of the living world for centuries of solitude.

The Captain got up and made his way back to the door. "Let's go downstairs, Jormungand, see what we can do to figure this out. We can call the doctor. And it might be a good idea to get in touch with Asgard, let them know what's happened, see if they can help the situation."

Jormungand's eyes hardened. "So they can recapture my brother, you mean? If that is your idea of helping us, then you will leave now and keep your silence, unless you particularly want to lose your tongue."

Steve swallowed. He wasn't afraid, although he had no doubt this man could kill him in a trice if he wanted to. But he was walking a tightrope now, needing to help Loki and Jormungand without making things much, much worse. "That's not what I meant, Lokison. Come on, I think you could use some hot chocolate. Do you have some downstairs?"

Jormungand looked at him hopefully, eyes suddenly reddening, as if the stress of it all was only now catching up with him. "I don't know. I haven't really learned to use the kitchen yet. I've just been fishing again for the past month. But Father made some for me, before. I really liked it, especially with honey..."

Steve touched him on the shoulder. Jormungand was angry, frustrated, and scared. This child of Loki was over a thousand years old, if Steve remembered correctly, but for all that, he seemed to be still a child in his heart, albeit one that had endured more hardship than any child should, with likely little more than a child's capacity to cope despite his age. He was adrift in an unfamiliar environment, with his sole provider too lost in his illness to help. All Steve could do for him was provide some of the comfort and guidance and sanity sorely lacking in this house. It would start with cocoa.

* * *

 **If Locke Goodman was, in fact, Loki's only child to survive to adulthood...**

"Hold up. I see him. He's in that knot over there." Steve gestured to a nearby cluster of men and women in nice suits and cocktail dresses. In the center, in a simple black, paint-stained T-shirt, windbreaker, and jeans, stood... Locke Goodman. The artist. He looked faintly bored. He was _not_ the God of Mischief, but he bore a striking resemblance to him. Neither Steve nor Tony had seen an actual picture of Locke before, but there was no question in Steve's mind as to who it was. They made a beeline for him.

"Excuse me," Tony said. "Mr. Goodman? Tony Stark. I just love your work." All the other socialites cozying up to the artist fell back to admit the world's most famous billionaire, while Locke himself regarded the pair of them rather cooly.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark. And you're Captain Rogers I'm guessing? I recognize you from the news broadcast a few years ago." Judging from the artist's pointed tone, he rather disapproved of that broadcast.

They needed to get him alone and question him. "Yes, I am. I have to say I was sorry to hear about your grandfather. I actually met him a while ago. He seemed to be doing better for a bit, but I was definitely worried the last time I saw him."

"You knew him," Locke said. "Interesting. He never mentioned you were his friend."

"Yes, well, I think he only decided he liked me recently. Could we talk? Would you mind terribly?" Steve gestured hopefully away from the group. Distrust and an eagerness to be free of his other grasping admirers warred across the man's closed face. His clear distaste for social gatherings won.

"Please. I would like to hear more from one of my grandfather's friends. He didn't have many by the end." He glanced around the smartly-dressed circle with a very Loki-ish smirk. "My apologies, ladies, gentlemen. Please, enjoy the show some more. I am not good company in any case." He led Steve and Tony away from the group and ducked into a back room. He turned around to glare at them. "You two have some gall to show up here. What have you done with Loki?"

"Nothing! We thought you were him, until we saw you."

He stared at them. "Seriously?" He smiled. "So he did escape. Even from the Avengers!"

"We weren't actually holding him prisoner."

"You did kidnap him, and my infant sibling. Why did you bother? He wasn't doing any harm!"

"Well, uh, it's hard to explain. Has he contacted you?"

"What makes you think I would tell you?"

"Look, we were trying to help him! Well, not originally but after... We didn't know what was in that house. We certainly didn't know about you. Look, I'm sorry to say your baby brother, Njalli, was dead when we found him, and Loki was almost gone too. We saved him..."

Locke turned deathly pale and reached out to steady himself on the wall. "I knew something was wrong when he didn't contact me that day. He was paranoid ever since he got here and wouldn't even let me visit on the off-chance someone tracked him down, but he always, always sent a thought-message, every day. When I found out about you guys, I assumed he just didn't have the time before you showed up... And there was clearly nothing I could do about that, about you." Tears welled in his eyes. "Poor father. Poor Njalli, was it?" Steve nodded. He shook his head, still shocked. "Tell me what happened."

Slowly, Steve and Tony explained what had been going on for the last six months. Locke Goodman expressed suitable grief and alarm, and a surprising amount of grim acceptance. He was not at all surprised when Steve talked about their discovery of Loki's multiple personalities, though he was very interested to learn about Scholar, now Scholar-Prince. When they asked, he merely said, "he uses the 'Alterego' identity with me a lot. It's my father Logan Goodman. I only found out he was actually the Norse god when I was about twenty, when he changed then up and vanished right in front of me during a thunderstorm. I introduced myself again later as his son, to keep in touch when he's on Earth. He does remember my mother as both Loki and Logan, fortunately... I didn't tell him about Logan though. It was probably wrong of me, but I didn't know what would happen to him if I did, and I didn't want anything to change." Steve didn't know what to say to that.

Finally, Tony summarized what they knew since the Battle of Asgard and asked again, "So, he hasn't contacted you?"

"No. And I'm not surprised. When he's stressed, he's always afraid to get in touch, afraid one of his enemies will come after me. It's never happened, but I don't push it. He's difficult enough when he's on a good day."

"Well, I can certainly understand that. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. It was hard enough for _us_ to see him in such a state."

Locke shrugged uncomfortably. "I never saw him as bad as you're describing, at least, not until he came back here last year, pregnant with Njalli. That was a bit of a shock. He had told me about the others, but I'd never, you know, _seen_ it before. He didn't tend to shape-shift around me, since I don't have any magic. He wanted to be as normal as he could be around me. And of course, when he's Logan, he doesn't have magic either, or at least, he doesn't know he does... Kjartan died the year I was born. He was two. I only met him once, when Loki summoned Hela and all the others to visit us, ages ago. It was weird."

"Have you met Jormungand too?"

"Oh, yeah. Actually, I see him more often than I see Loki. He takes me swimming sometimes. I've been all over the world with him. He can't talk, but he can understand and we can sorta communicate with signals and stuff."

"Huh," said Steve. The three of them fell silent for a bit, digesting these revelations. "I can't say you're what I was expecting this evening, Locke. But I'm really glad to meet you. I hope when things settle down, Loki will come back. If you see him before we do, please, just let us know. We're worried about him, and Dr. Sarmit would like to keep seeing him and try to help him get better."

"Okay."

"And we'll be sure to call you if we get a lead on him."

"Thank you."

"Also... What do you think about telling Thor about you? I'm sure he and Frigga and Odin would like to meet you."

"Oh. Um. Well, that might be fun, but it might be good to wait until we've tracked down Loki, don't you think? I doubt he's lost all his paranoia and overprotectiveness."

"Good point. I guess we'll see you around, then."

"Guess so."

Steve nudged Tony and turned back towards the main gallery. Then he paused and turned back. "You're a really talented artist you know. Maybe better than Loki."

Locke smiled. "He taught me to paint. He was impressed with my tendency towards the abstract, though, since his work is more realistic."

"True. Well, it's been an honor, Locke."

"Me too. I can't say I liked the Avengers much before, since, you know, the family honor or whatnot, but I'm glad to meet you, really."

Tony grinned. "Always good to get a new convert. If you want, you can come over for a tour of my tower any time, man."

"I might take you up on that. Goodbye, Mr. Stark, Captain." He followed them back into the main gallery and waved them off, returning to his other guests with a completely fake polite smile plastered across his face. Like father like son.

"Interesting fellow. Not what I was expecting."

"Just wait: the twist is, that really was Loki, but in disguise, messing with us."

"Don't even think such things, Tony," Steve groaned. The worst thing was, it could actually be true. He hoped it wasn't, and he didn't really think it was, but it could be true.

* * *

 **If Lady Loki made a move on Iron Man, and he was just drunk enough to accept... then this would have been a different kind of M-rating, but let's keep it T.**

Tony woke up when he actually fell off the chair. He was in the lab, of course, even though there wasn't much to do in this lab now that the Mind Stone was gone and all his Ultron software therefore useless. He rolled onto his back and knocked over the collection of empty beer bottles he'd amassed earlier that evening, before he fell asleep at the desk.

"You have at least thirty bedrooms in this place, Mr. Stark," a smooth voice commented out of the darkness. "Perhaps you might think of sleeping in one of them?"

Tony screamed like a girl.

"I'll even deign to get you there, if you're too inebriated to do it yourself," the voice continued, with the vocal equivalent of a smirk.

"Jarvis! Lights!"

Tony blinked in surprise when the lights came on and revealed someone who looked horribly like Loki sitting on the floor of the lab, running long fingers over the cracks and burns where the god had stood not too long ago. The floor appeared to be repairing itself at the touch.

"What are you doing here?" Tony said stupidly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Um, fixing the floor?"

"Very good. I see why you're the brains in the Avengers operation."

"Thanks. Coming from _you_ , that means a lot." Tony rubbed his forehead, already bearing the twinges of an oncoming massive hangover. Loki chuckled, and it was somehow the single most alarming thing he had ever heard. He looked up to see the god crawling towards him, burned floor abandoned.

"I've always appreciated sarcasm. It's so... refreshing. No one in Asgard can do it properly." Loki's voice was practically a purr. Tony wasn't sure which was worse: the fact that that tone was coming from Loki's lips, or the fact that he didn't find it nearly so disturbing as he probably should have. He wasn't even leaning away, even though Loki was well within the personal bubble propriety normally demanded. He was staring deep into the Trickster's eyes, able to see all the patterns within the green. He looked away and noticed the god's unreasonably flawless skin, luscious hair, long neck, delicate hands... the soft curve of small breasts... Wait a minute. That wasn't right. But there they were. His breath caught and blood rushed to his cheeks. He quickly looked back up at Loki's face, which now bore a mocking expression with one cocked eyebrow.

"So what do you say?"

"What?" Tony was way too drunk and way too distracted to remember if he had been asked a question.

"Would you like some help finding your bed?"

The blood in his face was rebelliously rushing somewhere equally embarrassing. This was really not the right time, or place, or person, or level of intoxication. But... He could remember all the subtle and not-so-subtle hints _Lady_ Loki had sent his way, and really, he wasn't made of stone. He liked compliments as much as the next man, and the raw sensuality the Lady exuded when she wanted to was second to none.

What the hell. "Is that your final offer or an opening bid subject to negotiation?"

Loki grinned, eyes dancing and alight with a new hunger. "I thought you'd never ask," she breathed, and pulled him smoothly to his feet. She leaned in and kissed him hard, one hand exploring his back and slowly working its way south. Tony pleasantly forgot any objections that might have lingered in the back of his head and surrendered to the sensation. One didn't get to make love to a goddess every day, after all... And Thor would never find out. Ever.

* * *

 **If this were a long-form advertisement for candy...**

"Good afternoon. Fancy meeting you here! It's not often a misshapen mauve tyrant shows up just in time for me to _pluck his beating heart out and FEED IT TO THE RAVENS!_ " Loki said, voice rising from pleasant palaver to a venomous shout that made the inside of Thor's ears quiver.

Loki breathed in the scent of smoke and gore with relish. This was where he belonged. He flexed the fingers buried inside the Mad Titan's chest, digging his nails into the soft tissues swaddling his mortal enemy's most vital organ. He felt the other Loki's subtle tendrils of magic unfurling out of his hand to seek out the true center of the titan's power.

"Ow," Thanos said offhandedly, then smiled. "Here. Eat a Snickers."

"Why?" Loki said, hugely offended. Without thinking, he took the candy and devoured it, wrapper and all.

"You get a little angry when you're hungry. Better?"

It was like a veil had lifted from his eyes and a weight from his chest. Loki almost felt... normal. He didn't hurt. He didn't feel disoriented and frightened as he had so often recently. He looked around, somewhat in awe to see that he, Thanos, and Thor were just... out in the woods, outside the city. There were no fires. There was no war. A soft wind sighed through the trees. He really needed to work on reigning in his imagination and eating regular meals. He sheepishly withdrew his hand from his friend's torso, wincing at the blood and the revolting slurping sound that followed. Hastily, he waved his hand, and a delightfully bright green spell healed the ugly wound. Thanos stepped back and gave Thor a hand up.

Loki sighed contentedly. "Better."

* * *

 **If they actually got there a little earlier, and things had gone differently...**

Three days had passed since the birth, and Loki's condition was unchanged. Except for the one time when he had half woken up and panicked at the absence of his child. He now lay quiet, holding a doll to his chest as if it were a living and breathing baby. The real baby was doing well, though, with a surprisingly voracious appetite. They were calling him Loki Junior as they waited for his... mother... to wake up and name him properly. Natasha and Bruce in particular adored him.

In the afternoon, Thor made his presence known with an unexpected torrential downpour and thunderstorm. He alighted on one of the balconies of Stark Tower, outside the room where Steve, Bruce, and Tony were sitting. He seemed disappointed when all of his human friends completely failed to express shock at his sudden arrival. "My friends!" the prince boomed with an enormous grin, gathering the three of them into a hug for an instant, before stepping back, face falling into a more serious expression. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. My brother escaped a while ago, and we have new information that he might have come to Midgard."

"Only a 'might'? I guess your Ham Doll guy didn't read my beach after all."

"What do you mean, Man of Iron?"

"I mean, I apparently spent all afternoon the day before yesterday scratching enormous letters into the sand outside my mansion in the Hamptons, getting very strange looks from all my neighbors, for absolutely nothing."

"What does he mean, Captain of America?"

"He means we already found Loki three days ago. We don't really have a good way to contact you, you know? Since you mentioned that your friend, Heimdall, I think it was, can see literally everything, we figured writing him a note in really big letters was better than nothing."

"You found my brother? Where is he?"

"Downstairs."

"Take me to him!"

"Not yet." Thor looked stunned, staring at Steve incredulously. "We need to talk first. He's in no condition to see you anyways."

"Is my brother injured?"

"Sort of... I guess there's not really a great way of saying this -"

"Congratulations!" Tony broke in. "You're an uncle!"

Bruce smiled. "That works." Thor looked at them blankly. "Never mind, it didn't. Ok, Thor, Loki had just given birth when we found him. He was in bad shape and bleeding out, and the baby wasn't doing well either. Fortunately, we were able to stop the bleeding and resuscitate the baby. Loki still hasn't woken up yet, but the baby is fine. We're calling him Loki Junior."

Steve just had to laugh at Thor's expression, rapidly switching between confusion, worry, and delight, and back again. Tony started laughing too, then Bruce. Natasha chose that moment to wander in with Loki Junior on her shoulder. They laughed all the harder as Thor's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Nephew!" he shouted, springing up to investigate. He hugged the infant joyfully, though it squirmed and reached towards Natasha. Steve thought Natasha might melt right there. Today was such a good antidote to what had happened. There was still the nagging worry about what the _other_ contents of Loki's house meant, but for now, at least, the day was good.

* * *

 **If they didn't actually find Loki in time...**

It was a small house, and a very old house. At least for a house in America. It was elegantly designed and built of stone, shabby from age. A small, unkempt garden hugged its base, supplanting the need for a mowed lawn in this neighborhood. The Avengers, and a platoon of SHIELD agents, had it surrounded. Loki, the power-crazed Asgardian who had attacked New York City two years ago was, supposedly, inside. Steve Rogers, Captain America, leader of the Avengers, had absolutely no idea why that would be.

Silently, the Captain motioned his team to advance. A single, short, sharp blow to the lock broke open the door, and the Avengers rushed in. They found themselves in a tiny foyer. Clint immediately turned left to check the kitchen. Tony turned right, checking the sitting room. Both were clear. Steve continued down the dim hallway. The door at the end was open, so he wanted to check there first, leaving the team to check the other rooms.

Steve ducked under the frame. The bedroom looked even smaller than it was, with the curtains drawn and an excessive collection of squat, finely carved, wooden furniture. It was too dark to see what was actually in here, so he fumbled for the light switch. Steve blinked at the soft colors as the light came on. He seemed to be surrounded by cradles, each with pastel blankets draped within. The walls were a pale yellow, the curtains light green. In the corner, like the mother hen to this bizarre clutch of cradles, was a plain twin bed, and it looked like someone was on it, muffled in blankets.

Cautiously, Steve raised his shield and picked his way over to the bed. The person made no move. The Captain reached down and pulled back the edge of the blanket, revealing, indeed, Loki. The enemy. His eyes were closed, his face pale as paper, sheened with sweat. He did not move. Steve heard someone else walking in behind him, and he knew his team had cleared the rest of the house. Slowly, the Captain pulled off a glove and felt for a pulse in Loki's neck. It was there, faint, and very fast. Looking over his shoulder at his bemused friends, he shrugged. Turning back to the enemy, he pulled the blanket down further, then dropped it and stumbled back in surprise.

There was a newborn baby clutched to Loki's bare chest, the umbilical cord still fresh and attached, disappearing beneath the blankets. Natasha leaped forward. She gently cupped the babe's head. "It's not breathing," she whispered frantically, and lifted it from the enemy's chest. The god murmured in a pathetic attempt at protest, but was too weak to do much more. As Natasha began CPR on the tiny infant, Steve tentatively drew back the sheet the rest of the way, stomach plummeting into his ankles as he did. Loki was hemorrhaging badly.

"Get a medic," he ordered no one in particular, as he swallowed his bile and picked up the cord still anchored inside the god, wondering what to do.

"He's stopped breathing," came Clint's voice, after a moment.

"What? Check his pulse again!"

..."Nothing." Steve abandoned the umbilical cord in favor of chest compressions. _Where was that medic?_

"...28, 29, 30! Anything?"

"Yes! Thank God! Ah, you little trooper. You're going to be ok," Natasha gasped from behind them at the very moment the baby started crying. Steve felt a wave of relief for that, but Loki's chances didn't look good

"What happened?" A short, brown-haired, no-nonsense type medic crouched down beside him with a bulky first-aid case.

"We just found him like this," Clint said. Steve was preoccupied trying to get Loki's heart pumping again: "...14, 15, 16..."

The medic felt Loki's neck, then chest, frowning. She reached into her case and handed Clint a face mask attached to a plastic bottle. "Give him a breath every 10 seconds. Good compressions, Captain, keep at it. But I doubt his heart's the problem yet. It's still beating. He just doesn't have enough blood. How's the baby doing, Agent Romanoff?" The medic turned her attention to the source of the bleeding, gently tugging on the cord while massaging Loki's belly.

"He seems fine now. Certainly cries well."

"Good. Keep him warm. There's clamps and scissors in my kit for the cord. Do any of you know how to insert an IV?" She looked up when none of them answered. "Fantastic," she muttered, "And it _won't_ help to take an alien to a human hospital and kill him with human blood... Dr. Banner, come here. See what I'm doing? Take over for me. We need to deliver the placenta or he'll just keep bleeding." The physicist raced to comply. The medic immediately dug into her kit. "Agent Stark, come lift his legs up." He obeyed. She finished connecting some saline, and, gently squeezing the bag, she felt Loki's neck and chest again and muttered a curse. Quickly, she withdrew a thin plastic box from her case and slapped a couple stickers on Loki's chest with one hand. She pressed a button. _Analyzing rhythm..._ The electronic voice startled Steve. He realized belatedly the instrument the medic had hooked up to Loki was a defibrillator. "Captain, Barton, switch places while it's working."

 _Charging_... "Shit. Agent Barton?" Clint started chest compressions again. Steve took up the breathing mask and glanced over at Natasha, sitting on the floor in the forest of cradles, cooing at the newborn with a worried face.

 _Clear the patient._

"Everyone stand back," the medic ordered.

 _Administer shock._ She pressed a button, and Loki twitched. _Continue with CPR_.

"Compressions, please, Barton." The medic in turn swapped places with Banner and took up the cord again.

 _...Analyzing..._ "Switch after this, gentlemen. You too, Banner." _Continue with CPR._ They fell into a rhythm, rotating places every time the machine said to continue. It never asked for another shock.

 _Analyzing..._ Clint let up so as not to interfere with the machine. Even as he did so, the afterbirth emerged in a gush of dark blood that flowed over the bed and covered the medic's hand completely.

 _Continue with CPR._ Steve did, but he knew it wasn't going to be enough. He didn't think even a god could survive with this kind of blood loss, unless Thor conveniently showed up with a magical solution.

The medic plunged her hand into the crimson font and pressed her other hand into Loki's stomach, attempting to stem the flow. After a time, she directed them to a second bag of fluids.

 _Analyzing..._ The flood became more of a trickle at least, but it really looked like Loki's skin was turning gray-blue for some reason, not just pale. And he wasn't warm. _Continue with CPR._

Bruce took over for him, Steve returning to the head of the bed to deliver breaths. _Analyzing... Continue with CPR._

The medic finally withdrew her hands, quickly replacing the manual pressure with rolls of gauze from her kit. _Analyzing... Continue with CPR._ She stepped around Clint to join Steve and Bruce at the head of the bed, ushering them aside. She felt for a pulse again, then peered into the god's eyes, wide and staring and (strangely) dark red when she pulled up the lids. She turned his head from side to side and brushed his eyelashes.

 _Analyzing... Continue with CPR._ "Don't bother. He's gone... Time of death 10:38." It was half-past nine when they entered the house, Steve recalled numbly. The medic bit her lip, then turned away from the bed to join Natasha on the floor. Nat had found a bright, striped blanket for the baby, which Steve vaguely recognized as the one that had been hanging on the side of the cradle nearest the bed. "How is he?"

"Sleepy now, I think."

"Let me see... Yes. Good. He looks great. Let's get him someplace warmer where he can get cleaned up and eat." The medic quickly toweled off her hands and gathered up the cleaner remains of her kit before looking back at where the others still stood over Loki. "I'll be back for the rest of it in a bit. Could - could you see to, uh, him, Captain?" She helped Natasha to her feet, both mindful of the baby. With a last red-eyed look back at the dead parent on the bed, the women left the room.

"...arrange transport," Tony muttered. "Bruce?" They left.

 _Analyzing... Continue with CPR._ A sound escaped Steve caught between cough, laugh, and sob. Gosh, was this wretched. He turned the machine off and closed it up, then pulled the stickers off the Trickster's skin, and slowly pulled the red-stained sheet back over Loki's corpse. This was really not the way Captain America preferred to capture his enemies. He stood back up, looking around the horrible little room, all the cradles. He didn't want to know why they were there. "What on Earth are we going to tell Thor?" he murmured.

"That he's an uncle," Clint answered grimly. "And that there was nothing we could do." He looked down, and his face blanched. "And absolutely nothing about these." Steve followed his gaze to where a tiny skeletal hand was peeping out from beneath a pretty knitted blue blanket in a nearby cradle.

He drew in a shaky breath, certain he would be having nightmares tonight. "You are absolutely right, Hawkeye. Alright... let's get this sorted. I think Tony has a morgue in his tower, right? We'll put him there for a bit. Thor will want to say goodbye when he gets here." They worked in silence, putting the grisly space to some order.

"If he ever comes," Clint commented, as he picked up the defibrillator and turned to pick his way through the cradles towards the door.

"He will eventually."

"Before or after the kid starts school?"

"Can you try to be optimistic?"

"That's asking a little much at the moment."

They found Natasha and the medic in the sitting room with Tony and Bruce, apparently waiting for the SHIELD troopers outside to get a vehicle up here.

"What are we going to name him?" Tony asked.

"I found this," Bruce said immediately, holding up a piece of paper with a long list scratched across it. "It was on the desk over there."

Steve peered at the cramped writing. They weren't English names, but then, there was no reason to expect them to be. He scrutinized the top one. "Is this... Myoltr?"

The medic reached for the list, took one look at it, and chuckled. "You don't have enough doctors in your circle of friends, Captain. It says Njalli."

"Oh. That's much better. Anyhow, it's at the top of what looks like the boy's column, so..."

"Njalli it is," Natasha said softly, then crooned, "Hello, Njalli. I'm so sorry we couldn't save your real mommy, but I'll be here..."

"Here's the car," Clint said dully. Steve sent Tony, Bruce, Nat and the medic on ahead with the baby. He and Clint stayed to supervise as more SHIELD agents arrived with a van and a stretcher for the body. At the last moment, Steve grabbed the empty cradle that had clearly been meant for Njalli to bring it back to Stark Tower. They left the house to a 24-hour guard with orders that nobody touch anything inside.

The ride back was silent and unpleasant. The afternoon was horrible; Steve enlisted Bruce to help clean the body. The evening was quiet and depressing, though even Clint smiled when he held the new baby. Steve's night was terrible, haunted with the thought of Loki's corpse lying on a cold shelf in the basement. The next morning was miserable too, but the days got better. The Avengers took a few weeks off, cloistered together in Tony's tower. It definitely helped having Njalli around. Natasha loved him and spent the most time with him, but he quickly bonded with the whole group. It made them dread Thor's coming all the more.

* * *

 **If before all of this happened, Loki took the time to sit Thor the f*** down and explain a few things...**

Loki hesitated at the entrance to Thor's room, sorely tempted to simply go across the hall to his own, like always, and let things return to status quo. But he had promised Hela he wouldn't. He opened the latch and shoved the door open as he strode into his brother's room. He jumped a little as the heavy wood banged against the wall, but continued his purposeful gait. Thor looked up at him from where he had been polishing his helmet at the table by the window. "Brother! You're back!" His hearty grin faded somewhat. "Is something wrong?"

Loki snorted. "The oaf finally notices, with only the slightest of hints, amazing! Yes, Thor, quite a lot is wrong."

Thor got up immediately and walked over to meet Loki in the center of the room, hands finding his shoulders. Loki forced himself not to flinch. "What's happened?"

"What do you think happened?"

His brother looked at him blankly. "I don't know. You've been traveling for over three years. Did you get hurt or something?"

 _"Traveling?"_ Loki shouted incredulously. "Don't you dare sit there and pretend you didn't know exactly where I was."

Thor let go of him, looking strangely hurt and confused. "I'm not pretending, brother! When you didn't come back after a month, I asked Heimdall about you, and kept asking, but he said he couldn't see you! How do you expect me to know where you are and what happens to you when you hide yourself so well?"

Loki glared at him, unimpressed by his brother's play-acting. "You. Were. There. This is all your fault."

" _Where?"_

"On _Midgard!"_

"...So you were on Midgard? For three years? Why would you go there? It's boring."

"That's kind of the point, don't you think?"

"Uhh... I don't understand."

Loki scoffed, but secretly began to wonder if, perhaps, Thor actually was telling the truth. Maybe this time it was _all_ his fault, he had just gotten anxious. And his anxiety was enough to... Tears came to his eyes again, and he grabbed at the bedposts for support, sobbing silently. Kjartan was gone because of _his_ weakness alone. _This_ time, Heimdall truly hadn't seen him, Odin hadn't known, Thor hadn't known, they had been _safe,_ and yet his child was dead anyways. Hela was wrong. He really should just kill himself now.

Strong arms encircled him. "Hey... Loki, what's happened? You can tell me anything."

Loki pushed him away and wiped his eyes, struggling to regain his composure. He stared his brother down and said nastily, "You _were_ an uncle, Thor."

Thor's brow furrowed. "Yes?"

That was not the response Loki had expected or desired. "His name was Kjartan."

The color drained from Thor's face. "You had another son?! Wha- _was?_...What happened to him?"

Loki sneered. "He is beyond your reach, now."

Thor grabbed him again, his own eyes swimming. "What happened, Loki? Did you marry again in secret or something? You say you _had_ a son? What _happened? What wrong do you think I have done you?_ Did a demon wearing my face attack you and your family? Tell me, so I can help you!"

Loki shook his head, confused by his brother's obvious concern and ignorance. Thor wasn't that good a liar. "I always go to Midgard," he said softly. His knees buckled. Thor caught him and lifted him over to a chair. Worriedly, Thor glanced between Loki and the still-open door. He got up and shut it, quietly, before rushing back to Loki's side.

"Do you mean this has happened before? You have other children on Midgard? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Had," Loki whispered.

Thor was crying now, too. "You've _lost_ other children on Midgard? Why didn't you come to me?"

Helplessly, Loki repeated the fact of life he now knew with utter certitude was completely false: "You were the one who kept hunting me down every time, Thunderer."

It took all night for Loki to explain. He told Thor about how lost and confused he had felt for the thousand years since Vali and Narfi's terrible deaths. Then he told Thor about Meira, about Aud, and Bolli. Aki and Anton. Arnbjorg, Svanhildur, Kjartan... All of them. He grudgingly, fearfully confessed that there was something terribly wrong with his mind, not only because of his reprehensible yet irresistible actions, but also because of periods of disorientation and plain memory loss, though he couldn't bring himself to mention the Mask by name. He explained how afraid he felt, all the time, and how angry. He found himself confessing the bewilderment he had felt since childhood regarding Odin's crushing and completely unfair treatment.

At long last, all questions answered, all truths laid bare, both brothers drained of tears, Thor puffed out his breath into his beard. "Wow, I'm sorry. I guess I really am ignorant and clueless, like you always said. But we can fix this, well, not really, but make things better. Let's tell Mother and Father, now. Not about everything, obviously, but enough to put things straight about how unfair it's all been, so this never happens again. I'll back you up! It'll all work out! I love you, Loki!"

Loki stared at him in shock. How could this possibly be that easy? Thor pulled him to his feet and led him along the way to their parents' quarters. Loki followed unresistingly, in a kind of daze, really. Just this once, he had let his guard down and given Thor a piece of his mind. He hadn't expected it to work, but... He should have done this years ago, he realized, feeling even more worthless. Still, he felt a slow grin spreading across his face and warmth coming to his eyes again. He didn't particularly want to cry more at the moment, but... just this once, it seemed like it might not be a bad thing, to be open, and honest, and vulnerable. A note of worry wormed its way back into his brain, but he squashed it. Even if Odin refused to see reason, Thor was on his side now. Thor would make it bearable.

* * *

 **If Loki had had a sassy gay friend...**

Thunder crashed outside, startling Loki enough he almost spilled the simmering potion into the coals. He glanced worriedly across the longfire to where Meira was playing quietly, hiding from the noise in a tent made from pillows and quilts. The storm was getting closer. He didn't have much time. He refused to give her up, though. He whispered a final incantation and watched as the potion hissed softly and began to glow a soft pink. Meira would like that, he thought desperately. Pink was her favorite color, and the drink would taste mostly of the raspberries and honey he'd used to flavor it, rather than the acrid roots comprising the poison itself. She would know no suffering, ever. He lifted the potion from the fire and ladled it into a cup, then just sat there, waiting for it to cool a little. Another thunderclap broke the stillness, practically overhead. It felt like he was suffocating in this fear, his heart screaming to escape his chest, hands trembling and vision wavering. A knock came at the door, and he fell over in despair. There was no time. With clumsy hands, Loki scooped up the mug of potion, wincing as it slopped over the sides and singed his fingers. He had to save Meira _now_. Then the door opened. It was too late.

A slender figure ducked into his house. Loki stared at him in shock. It wasn't Thor. It was a young, immaculately groomed human, looking faintly ridiculous in strangely tight tunic and trousers, and a pale, sparkly orange scarf. The man smiled. "What, what, _what_ are you doing?" Loki couldn't say anything. "Look, I got your story, and it was rough, but this isn't the answer, Loki, my man! You've got an awesome daughter there. Don't let a silly thunderstorm trick you into losing her!" Meira peeked out from under her pillows to stare at the newcomer, a shy, innocent smile creeping over her beautiful face. Tears threatened Loki's eyes, and he didn't care. The human crouched in front of him, patted his knee comfortingly, then plucked the cup from his senseless fingers and tossed it into the flames. Eyes wide, Loki belatedly reached out after it, but the stranger caught his hand and held it in both of his. "Don't be silly. Now then, I know all about what's happened, and I get it, but you are a seriously awesome dude, Loki! You're brilliant, and creative, and smart as all get-out, and devilishly good-looking I might add. And you know that Thor would be here by now if this was one of his storms. Your father's just been a selfish idiot, not actually an intentionally malicious one. Now, is this really the best solution you can come up with?"

His smile was so warm and encouraging... Loki smiled back, his mind whirring back into action after ages of sluggish timidity. This bizarre human was right. There were clearly better solutions. How could he ever have considered _poisoning_ his daughter to be a valid option? What he _actually_ should be doing was figuring out what unholy principles were guiding Odin's actions and seek to correct _that_. He shivered at the very thought. No doubt it would be hard, mostly because it would be terrifying, but Meira deserved no less. He could be brave for her. He reached out his free hand towards his daughter, who promptly left her little nest to tiptoe over to him, crawling happily into his lap.

"Hi," she said, waving at the stranger. "I'm Meira. Who are you?" Loki kissed her hair. His daughter was fearless, he knew.

The strange man smiled. "Just a friend of your father's. I'm not staying long. It's good to meet you, Meira." He straightened up slightly, as if to get up and leave. Loki squeezed his hand and held him down just a moment longer.

"Thank you," he said, meeting the man's eyes, and looking beyond them to read the _elan vital_ that brought this creature to his door on this of all nights. Then he grinned. "Thank you very much, _Ergi Vinur."_

The Sassy Gay Friend, for such was the true name lurking in this otherwise nameless entity's laughing eyes, grinned back, then stood up and bowed to them with a flourish. "Until we meet again, Loki of Asgard." With a roguish wink, he vanished.


	29. Epilogue: Olympus

**I still don't own any of these characters, surprise.**

Out of burning, heat. Out of aching, numbness. Out of leeching, substance. Loki of Asgard materialized with a steaming hiss inside the kitchen of the Man of Iron. It was empty. He frowned, and stood stock-still to listen. Faintly, he heard the sound of a television down the hall, unmistakable with its mix of voices, physical sounds, and the low buzz and annoying high-pitched electronic whines apparently out of the oblivious humans' hearing range. He sighed and moved toward the noise. Before he got anywhere near the Man of Iron's "home theater," however, the television was suddenly drowned out by a new sound:

"USA! USA! USA! USA!" It was the Captain of America, in a voice more boisterous than Loki had ever heard from the overly-sincere human.

"Go home, America, you're drunk!" the Man of Iron shouted.

"WE'RE GONNA BE ON THE PODIUM, TONY! LET ME HAVE THIS MOMENT! USA! USA! USA!"

"Both of you, shut up." That was Agent Romanoff. The Assassin. "Evgenia's next."

"Sorry."

With some trepidation, Loki rounded the corner, stopping in the doorframe to see what the fuss was about. A bare minute passed, and his mouth fell open in shock. All the tension he had felt when he first made the decision to come here was diverted in fascination. The young woman on Stark's screen sailed across an arena of ice. She twisted, jumped, and spun in an acrobatic dance. It wasn't the athleticism that awed him; he grew up in Asgard, after all, where supreme feats of speed and strength and dexterity were commonplace. What amazed him was the union of artistry and ice. The very concept was alien to any of the Aesir. The the great city and the Fortress of Bor never froze. Indeed, only in the high mountains of the far south was there any significant snow or ice accumulation on the whole planetoid. Asgardians actually came to Midgard to practice winter fighting techniques, to be used in Jotunheim... Loki winced as a deeply buried, deeply unsettled, and deeply unsett _ling_ consciousness stirred at that thought. He balled a fist around the golden jewel in his pocket and resolved once again to destroy that _M_ _onster_ as intended. He just needed to trick the Man of Iron into helping him with the materials he needed, and suppress the self-righteous Prince long enough to get the job done.

But he paused, then. The lovely young human had finished her performance on the ice, to wild applause both from the audience onscreen and from the Assassin. It had been a very emotive dance, the movement and music swelling in synchronicity at the end, and Loki had felt the Monster _respond in kind_. Suddenly, Loki felt his grip on their shared consciousness slacken. The Odinson still had the strength to throw him, even possessed by the Monster, it seemed. Fuming, Loki retreated to watch the Monster disrupt and probably dismember this cozy little gathering.

Only he didn't. Loki, onetime hapless Odinson, onetime murderous Jotun, for the first time in years neglected his own past and own woes and simply continued to watch the screen. it had never occurred to him that ice, cold, and winter could be such an effective medium for artful perfection. Another athlete finished a sterling routine: a goddess floating over the ice, an impossible daughter of Vanir and Jotun. Then the program changed abruptly to show a young man's performance, one that had happened earlier Loki realized, listening to the commentary. The voiceover seemed very impressed with the man's jumping spins, which were indeed quite good, Loki supposed, though he had little to compare to. A few more men were briefly featured, then the image cut back to another female, striking a pose before her own dance. The music started, and she slid into an elegant glide...

"I need more popcorn," came a voice from the couch. There was some jostling as the humans rearranged themselves, then an unmanly shriek, distracting Loki from the performance. "Jesus, Rudolf, how long have you been standing there?"

Loki glanced with little interest at the three humans staring at him. He gestured to the screen. "What is this?"

"Um... the Olympics."

A spark of irritation flamed to anger to be smothered in tearful guilt. Prince Loki snapped back into place, smoothing over the others' emotions warring their way across his face. He smiled. His friends simply hadn't understood the question. "Yes, the commentator did say that a few minutes ago. I'm afraid I am not familiar with the Olympics, but Odinson was actually asking what type of performance this is, not the name of the event itself."

"This is the women's short skate," Lady Natasha said, turning back to the screen, her very posture communicating her avid attention.

Loki decided "skate" was the operative word. The ladies were skating. Well, he would stay and watch the "Olympics," and figure out what he was going to do about LOA's schemes for Odinson/LOJ later. He strode to the couch, still watching the current skatement. "May I join you?" The humans moved over, all thoughts of popcorn apparently forgotten. The skatement ended, and the program switched to a series of mildly irritating advertisements. Loki tuned them out and glanced over the coffee table in front of them. He raised a brow. "A strange repast for you three. Pie, raw root vegetables, liquor, and... whatever that is."

Captain Rogers grinned. Loki noticed he was a little red in the face. "It's Tony's idea of a joke, the apple pie and classic Coke. It's here every time I come over. He says it will make me even more American. _I_ brought the carrot sticks, because Tony will die of a stroke in a few years otherwise."

"I brought vodka," Natasha said, pouring herself and Loki a shot. The assassin tossed it back with a degree of stoicism reminiscent of Thor's friend Hogunn. Loki sniffed the drink, shrugged, and swallowed it. Not bad.

"Yeah, you're corrupting our white knight, Nat. Look at him! He's not made for this stuff. I'm starting to think maybe you've gone back to the other side again."

"I am flushed from patriotic excitement, not because I'm drunk, Tony," Steve said, sounding rather miffed.

"And I'm the Lord of Temperance."

Natasha rolled her eyes at both of them, then turned to Loki. "So, what brings you here, on a random Thursday? Haven't heard from you in awhile."

Well, he could hardly tell her the truth, Loki thought wryly. Now was not the time to discuss his other selves' infighting and self-destructive intrigues. "Tell me about the Olympics," he said instead. "I've never heard of them."

"You've never-!" Tony began, then, "Oh, no I suppose you wouldn't. You're so reclusive most of the time here, and they are sorta new in the grand scheme of things."

"It's a world-wide sporting event," Steve announced enthusiastically. "Athletes from all over the world compete in all kinds of sports every four years. Well, every two years, kinda. Summer games for a few weeks every four years, and winter games for a few weeks every four, but spaced out so they're every two. It's amazing."

"So it's not just skatement," Loki said.

Natasha burst out laughing. " _Skatement?_ Oh, dear. Sorry. It's skating. Wait." She turned to stare at him accusingly, even as the...skating...recommenced. "You really don't know what skating is, do you."

It wasn't really a question, and Loki didn't try to deny it. He looked back to the television and shrugged noncommittally. "They don't have it in Asgard." He watched the skater execute a flawless pirouette and smiled. "I never thought of ice as a thing of beauty."

"Sounds like we should take you skating," Steve said with a hiccup as he poured himself another shot.

" _YES!_ " Natasha shouted, strangely ecstatic.

Tony groaned. "I hate skating. It's too hard."

"Yes, we know Skeleton would be your sport. But I bet Loki would be really good at skating. He's tall but he's got the build, and we know he's got the coordination. And hey, he's an Ice Giant. He should have automatic affinity for it, right? I've been trying to get someone I like to go skating with me for _years,_ but you Americans are all..." She broke off, at a loss for the right word. She compromised with a string of very rude-sounding Russian.

"I think I should be insulted. Why didn't you ask me? I'd have gone with you," Steve said, looking at her.

Nat was silent for a moment as an evil grin spread across her face. Loki knew the insincere retort she was thinking: _Obviously, I don't like you._ Tony understood and started snickering. But the assassin went for gold, stretching the silence just long enough to become a little uncomfortable before saying primly, "You don't live in the same city."

Loki found himself laughing along with the rest of them, even Steve. The good Captain did recover first. "So, what do you think?" He gestured to the screen again, where the current skater was finishing a dizzying spin. "Want to learn?"

Before he knew it, the Odinson broke through like a tidal wave. "Yes, _oh_ yes," he sighed, and collapsed into silent tears, staring unblinking at the performance.

Natasha awkwardly patted his back. Loki ignored her in favor of the magnificent skaters flitting over the ice before him. He had hated ice and snow and everything to do with Jotunheim as long as he could remember, and that hatred had only deepened when he realized he was a child of that world. But he also despised that very hatred: he loathed the feeling of hating himself, though it was certainly one of his prime activities. Until today, though, he hadn't really understood how _much_ he hated that feeling. Until today, there hadn't seemed any alternative- his nature was despicable, but so indeed were his crimes. But now... he wanted to feel the beauty of the ice as he had rarely wanted anything for himself before. It was almost as if finding a single kernel of worth in that most hated core of his existence might somehow redeem the whole. It didn't make sense, he decided. But he could not deny the yearning.

Distantly, he heard the humans talking softly beside him.

"Do you think we should call Dr. Sarmit?"

"No, I think he's ok. I think this is good, actually."

"How so?"

"Prince said it was Odinson who spoke first. He hasn't said a word to me since the war."

"Nor me. Good point."

* * *

The next day Loki tried on skates for the first time, and discovered skating was rather more difficult than he had initially anticipated. Natasha was uncommonly good at it. "Every little girl in Russia wants to be a figure skater at some point in her life. Also a ballerina," she commented happily in response to his raised eyebrows.

"Weren't you recruited to assassination school at a very young age?"

"Well, yes, but before then..."

Tony slid past them in an ungainly squat, glaring as Steve executed a flawless pirouette. "That's not fair! You haven't skated in, like, eighty years probably!" Tony shouted. "How come you're still so good?"

Steve glided over. "It's like riding a bike, Tony. Or maybe it's the Super Soldier serum."

Nat snorted. "Yeah, you would definitely be disqualified for doping, Captain."

"I thought the good Captain's transformation back in the day _boosted_ his natural intelligence," Loki interjected as he experimented with a pleasing spin. He traveled with it and nearly fell over Tony.

"That's not what 'doping' means, Rudolf. It's drugging up to gain an athletic advantage. Also, watch where you're going. There's plenty of room in here. You don't need to crowd me!"

"My apologies." Loki started circling Tony like a shark, amused by his friend's unease on the ice. For his part, Loki was quickly getting a feel for his skates.

"Loki! Gah!"

"Problem, Man of Iron?" Tony answered by attempting to tackle him; he missed and fell flat on his face. Loki tried to help him up and ended up on his back as well. Soon, Nat and the Captain had also fallen into the pile.

"I give up," Tony panted after the rest had carefully disentangled themselves and regained their feet. "Just leave me here until you're done, then throw me a rope from the side." He remained pouting on his back for the next twenty minutes until Steve finally took pity on him and carried him off the ice.

Within an hour, Loki had discovered he had a new passion. He loved to skate. He loved the Olympics.

 **Author's Note: No, sorry, I am not starting this story up again. I just thought up this particular floofy scene and decided to write it as another epilogue for my existing story rather than its own oneshot. In other news, I have been loving the Olympics so far this year! Go Team USA!**


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